Mary Sam 2: the War of the Ring
by PippinStrange
Summary: Nate returns! A federal agent with a quirky sense of humor, the immature teen age boy is gone, and Nathan takes the role of a soldier in the War of the Ring. Can he truly help a situation where he knows the ending? Will he fall in love? Answers are here.
1. Hey Guys, I'm baaaack!

**Nate is back and ready for action. **

**He has to get back in the rhythm of things with the broken Fellowship that may or may not recognize him. **

**Saruman wants him dead. **

**The War of the Ring is beginning.**

**The Continuation of the Odd and Lovable Tenth-Walker Story.

* * *

**

**It's good to be back everybody! Please, read first, then review!

* * *

**

Disclaimer: I own Nate, Lindy, James. I do not own anything Tolkien has managed to create before my mind could think it up. I think an elvish OC will appear later that I will specify my ownership on later.

* * *

**Chapter One, Hey guys, I'm baaaaack!**

It's been years …I mean, really. My amazing summer story was written a while back, posted this last year, and now this one is beginning. Time to tell you about…well, another crazy random thing that happened to me. Though perhaps not so random since it has happened before. You decide.

I am still not good at introductions. I never have been. Just read the beginning of my last story about myself (myself as in Nate the ever-hilarious) and you'll see for yourself. Plus, I have ADD, so I get off track sometimes.

I've been through high school and some good old college, and built my patience as a Federal Bureau of Investigation officer. I'm the youngest there and still considered a rookie, but in all due respect, I know I'm good at my job but they worry about my age and won't let me move on. The High Authority says I need a little more experience.

Well, they never explained what kind of experience—so how about a little trip to a world no one thought existed? If that doesn't prepare a rookie for something—what else could?

Perhaps you've already guessed, now that my brain is practically spilled onto paper (or…computer screen, whatever…) you can read my little thoughts and see that, I am, of course, a Tenth Walker. Let me explain this to you a little more. The summer of my junior year—was it 2001 or 2002? Um…never mind.

To get back on subject. I took a little…trip, let's say, from a movie theatre into the Rivendell area. Things did not go accordingly to plan. I hoped for a bit I'd be a Mary Sam or something and fall in love with Arwen, Eowyn, or just some other hot elvish OC.

Well, there are two problems with this.

Number one: There is no such thing as a Mary Sam. As I came to find out from upset reviewers, there is only Marty Stu and Gary Stu. Figures.

Problem number two: I never fell in love with anyone but my best friend Lindy from my own world. She and my friend James ended up in Middle Earth as well, but only for a little while.

Lindy is now married to a man named Mr. Forester and I am the proud "honorary" uncle of her daughter. Sometimes, deep down, I feel awkward that I almost feel a slight hole where the crush used to be. I am pretty convince I am entirely over her, but once in a while…I guess I just feel lonely. But I'll find the right person, I know I will.

Middle Earth was the last thing I expected to…well, pop along. While I was there—I became really close with a few of the members, and the rest just learned to deal with my antics. The relationships with Aragorn, Pippin, and especially Boromir and Legolas were deeper friendships than the others. For the most part, the rest of them were acquaintances. But I appreciated all of it.

I learned to be serious. I was a reckless person who let ADD control most of my actions. I'm not like that anymore. Comedic ability is an art and I'm trying to learn it—it doesn't always have to be mental issues.

On my second little trip, I learned to overcome barriers with my friends…and more importantly, my family. I spoke—I mean, really spoke—to my dad. My mom really became a prominent figure in the family, rather than the cook and maid.

Then Galadriel told me I had to come back because I was running away from my problems.

I overcame them years ago, and I wondered if I wasn't good enough to come back, because if those problems were solved—why shouldn't I be able to come back? But I didn't, year after year, and I finally accepted the fact that I'd never see my friends in Middle Earth again. Other than James and I making a few sly jokes to each other about Middle Earth, I forgot…all about it.

Galadriel once told me my necklace (please, refrain the giggling. It's a manly necklace, okay? Really. Macho necklace. Manly. MAN—LEE.)

Um, ahem—Galadriel said my necklace had special powers. Once, it helped me throw myself back into Middle Earth. Believe me, I tried to make it do it again over and over. It wasn't until…here, I have this little excerpt here…

_His hand got caught in the necklace around my neck—the green stone plinked against the metal of the weapon. I jerked, the necklace fell back against his chest. The man kept fighting._

"_Hold him, Nate!"_

_The wild-eyed, white-haired man pulled the trigger._

_An explosion knocked myself nearly six feet away, slamming my poor little self into a wall. I collapsed, vision going a little…dark. _

_Then, surprisingly, I felt immediately wide awake, as if the delirium were reality. I could feel myself moving, the ground was soft. Not the hospital again! "I swear, why do I always get to take the falls," I thought. " I'm sick of this place. They are obsessed with white. I never want to see the color white again! Eew! At least I'm not under the turtle shelf anymore. I hope they didn't lose my necklace."_

_It started to rain._

_The trees were moving in a harsh, chilled breeze._

_I really didn't know whether to feel shocked, happy, upset, or utterly confused. I'd given up years ago at ever coming back. I thought they'd given up on me for good._

_But Middle Earth it was, one and the same, and it was spread before me like a green carpet, with Emyn Muil bordering the sky and the glimmer on Minas Tirith miles and miles away._

That is why I am here, now. Right in the middle of an explosion that would have killed me, my necklace used its happy little magic powers and threw me back to this place. I've got my full fledged FBI uniform on, which should scare several inhabitants.

I've got a bad sense of direction, too.

Perhaps…south. I'll just head for Minas Tirith.

I hope that WAS Emyn Muil. It could be some random mountain range that sprouted during the years of my absence. Maybe the War of the Ring is over. That'd stink.

This is the moment where I started…walking. I guess that's what Tenth Walkers do. They walk. It seemed reasonable enough.

And the adventure, I suppose, couldn't quite begin until I found something that was breathing in the desolate hillside that I was making footprints in.

What I REALLY wanted to do was to stumble onto my old friends, shout "Hey guys! I'm baaaaack!" and then dance in little circles.

But I'd have to find them first.

* * *

**Read and Review! Things will get more exciting soon, but every sequel needs a specific kind of introduction—a recap of the last story, a flashback, and the main character rambling on and on about something, and the start of a journey. But don't worry. This is the last we'll see of Nate's poor introductions.**

**Note from Nate: Read and review or I'll stake out by your house. **

**Note from Pippin Baggins: Review and I'll send cyber cookies. I'm the nicer one around here. **


	2. Life Forms, Cap'n!

**Hello,**

**Thanks for all your splendiferous reviews! Here's your next chappie! ENJOY AND READ AND REVIEW!!!**

**Pip

* * *

**

**Chapter Two, Life Forms, Cap'n!**

For the first three hours of hiking—which was rather tiring—I had been racking my brains trying to remember the maps in my books, or some sort of landmark, anything.

_I'm not lost. I'm not lost. This is Middle Earth, not San Francisco. I can't get lost. _

Dol Baran.

That word had been vaguely rumbling around in my brain for the second and third hour. It meant nothing, it just came to mind. I could BE there, I could be HEADED there, or it could be where everyone else was, or it could have been something Tolkienish that made itself up in my noggin, or perhaps some elvish angel was granting me a vision, or maybe the dinosaurs were coming back…

Dol Baran! I can't remember what the honk that means or why I am thinking of it!

Dol Baran…hmmm…

The air was like I remembered. Clean and fresh. It even _smelled_ green. I wanted to see something alive like you wouldn't believe.

At least I'd seen some squirrels.

Dol Baran.

_Shut up! _

That night came quicker than I wanted. I set up a bit of a camp under the shadow of an oversized boulder, laying on my jacket and using a funny fluffy flower for a pillow. _Hope it's not poisonous. It actually looks more like Queen Anne's Lace. Crap, that's poisonous, isn't it? Oh well, it's not bad, just a slight irritant, I think…_

Where I perched over looked a dip in the ground that feel away to a deep green bowl, a funny little valley, with quite a few trees. I concentrated on the dark blue view for a few moments, trying to coax myself to sleep in the wilderness despite the normal Mary-Sam tendencies to wake up surround by Orcs like in most fics.

_Sleep, blast it! I command thee! Go to sleep! _

_I don't waaaaaant to sleep. You can't make me!_

_You underestimate my power!_

_I refuse! _

_Sleep, snore, anything!_

A tiny speck of light appeared in the base of the valley. I jerked my head up and crawled to the edge of the embankment, peering closer.

A campfire.

Lord love it—a campfire. Hopefully wasn't any Orcs, that'd suck.

"YES!" I exclaimed, grabbing my jacket and slipping it back on. The night was turning cooler, and there were signs of life!

"Life forms, Cap'n," I muttered in a Scottish brogue. "The Enterprise is down, I'm going to investigate!"

I tripped and fell down the hill most of the way, somersaulting painfully down the steep incline, flipping off one end and nearly regaining my foothold the next. I came to a steeper end and started an unstoppable roll.

"Aaaaaas yoooooooou wish!" I cried, hitting the ground at the bottom with a thud.

I could hear mild talking in low tones coming from the direction of the campfire. Good, kind voices. One had an elvish accent. One sounded slightly British. These were definitely not orcs.

_Dol Baran! That's where Pippin steals the palantir! That's what happens very soon after Isengard! _

According to there time, I've been gone less than a week.

According to mine, I've been gone almost eight years. _They'll be expecting a boy, not a man. What is the best way to go about this?_

I guessed that perhaps they'd have scouts around the camp that would sooner shoot me than capture and ask questions. _Merely an obstacle. I'll find someway to get around it. _

I was just opening my mouth to shout excitedly, "Heeeeeey guys! I'm baaaaack!" when the shadow of a man darted in front of me and drew his sword. "Who goes there?" he cried threateningly.

"Give me a chance to explain my little predicament, here," I said, jumping backwards to avoid his outstretched blade. "Who are you? One of the Dunedain?"

"Who are you?" he asked, pausing.

"A friend," I replied tersely. "Mind if I talk to your leader?"

"Why?"

"Well, whoever your leader is, he's my friend."

"Don't you know?"

I froze. "Know what?"

"Who our leader is."

"Depends on what mood you're in."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Gandalf, Aragorn, Eomer, I don't know. Which one do you listen MOST to?" I asked impatiently. This man speaks in an extremely confusing way. How does he ever hold a normal conversation?

"I wanna talk with the man in charge," I whined. "Please. Do me that favor. But I'd rather go alive, okay? It's more convenient to speak with them that way."

The man shook his head, put fingers to his lips, and whistled.

Two more shadowy men stepped out from behind various trees or rather large objects, swords drawn.

"He'd like to speak with our leader," he said rather mockingly. "And so to him he shall go."

"Gracias!" I sighed, ignoring them completely, and taking off at a quick stride. They trotted to keep up with me. Ha.

I walked into the camp, where various peoples were settling in cots and some were stringing up make-shift tents.

Several men, obviously Dunedain in their grayish cloaks, looked at me dubiously.

"Um, Hullo," I said awkwardly. "Lovely evening. Where is…Aragorn?"

"We'll take you to Aragorn," said my captors crankily.

"I'll go myself," I shot back.

Some pointed the direction, right by the campfire. Of course. Just barely in the shadows, our favorite ranger sat, looking moody, chewing on a twig. He was talking in low tones to another stumpy figure. Gimli.

I hadn't seen them for so long! It felt like ages! It was so good to see them!

I straightened my jacket, slicked back my hair, (the auburn shag fell back into place, as usual) and waltzed over.

I stood on the outer edge of the circle, waiting for someone to say something. No one really noticed me, they were all talking in hushed tones to each other. My captors hung back, only watching, but fingering their sword handles.

"Where do you suppose he could have gone?" Aragorn threw a twig into the fire. "I just don't understand. He and his friends just…disappeared."

"Laddie," Gimli said comfortingly, "He probably went home. He seemed to be pulled back at random times, did he not?"

"Well, yes."

"Then he must be in his own world."

"But he's been gone for many, many hours! Sneaking off to play…" he paused. "Whatever those things…were called… pranks! That's what he always did. But still… he's never been gone this long before."

"I've actually been gone about eight years in my own world," I said, stepping into the camp light. I was quite touched. They seemed to be worried for my absence. "So I may look a leetle different…"

"GOODNESS GRACIOUS," erupted Gimli, launching to his feet.

"You're back!" Aragorn stood, jumped around the fire, and gave me a huge hug. _Aw. Stop it, Stinky, or I'm gonna cry. Blast my watery eyes._

Aragorn pulled back and appraised me. "You've not been gone less than a fortnight! And yet, so changed…" his smile was somewhat hindered by pure amazement. "You've seemed to become a man overnight."

"Crazy, ain't it?" I said, trying to keep my manly composure. _Oh, to heck with manly composure! These are some of my best friends!_

"Outta the way," Gimli said grumpily, shoving Aragorn. "Let me have a look at you!" he didn't bother to look at me, but shook my hand heartily and finished it off with another embrace. "You are changed, laddie. It's a shock, that's for sure. Wait till Gandalf sees you! He's sure to pass right on and be Gandalf the Dead!"

We laughed. I relished the sound of our laughter together. It'd been so long…

"Where's Legolas?" I finally asked.

Aragorn paused. "I…I think he is on watch." He grinned. "I'll get him. Do something."

"Something against the elf?" Gimli looked to eager. "Sounds like better than a new pipe…"

I glanced around. My captors had wandered off sulkily, I'm sure, when Aragorn hugged me so exuberantly. What could I do…

Thinking of nothing better, I hid behind a tree. Gimli sat at the fire, pretending to sharpen his axe with a small stone.

Aragorn soon arrived, toting a disheveled Legolas. He looked tired, and stressed, and rather upset.

"My watch is not over," he was saying.

"Someone else is taking over," Aragorn said darkly. "We need to talk."

"What has he done this time?" Gimli asked casually.

"I assure you, I did nothing," Legolas insisted. "Have we had news of Nathanial?"

"None," Aragorn said, sounding so depressed that I tried not to snicker. "I sent a few scouts out, like we did yesterday. Still no sign of him."

It made me smile. They'd sent search parties out for me!

Legolas slumped onto a log, glancing at Gimli, who had a twisted smile on his face. He glanced back to Aragorn, then Gimli again. "Alright, what is going on that I have no knowledge of?"

I was creeping towards him from behind.

"Only this," Aragorn said gravely. "I…I lied about the news."

"What?"

"We…" he choked up, fighting a smile. It sounded like he was about to cry. "We found Nathanial…"

Legolas' shoulders stiffened. "You don't mean—"

_His elvish hearing ain't working. Good. Or maybe I've learned to be a pretty darn good stalking agent and can walk like…like…Pocahontas or something…_

I put my mouth as close to his ear as possible without getting too close. "LEGOLAS," I said loudly.

Legolas must have jumped a mile high—or to his feet anyways—and whirled around, shouting some curse words in elvish. I caught the words "Son of an Orc" and a few other R-rated Middle Earth devilries.

"Hello," I said happily.

Legolas growled, hopped for a second, and melted. He pulled me into a hug as well, feigning like he was completely upset with me. "How could you do this to us, Nathanial?" he demanded, pulling back. "Wandering off! Where are you friends? You surely…" he slowed to a stop, noticing my different apparel and…well, manliness, I'm proud to say. "What has happened to you? Your face…your hair…"

"My muscle?" I added eagerly, tensing a bicep. _That's so nice. _

"Whatever," Legolas said quickly. He got that word from me. He'd never of said it if I hadn't come along. "If you are not a day less than twenty-one in human years, than I am the dark lord."

"I'm older," I laughed. "My world's time is slightly different. It's been…I think eight years, maybe seven, maybe nine. I'm not much for calendars."

"What is your age?"

"It's a secret," I said sourly. Despite being much younger, you never what to give anyone a chance to tease about mid-life crisis's.

"We thought something dreadful had happened to you and your little friends," Legolas added on a more serious note. "Where are they? They have not come with you?"

"No," I said, sitting on a log. Gimli and Aragorn were seated opposite, preparing to hear a bed time story, most likely. Legolas joined me.

"So they stayed in your world?" he asked again. "And Lindy…is she…"

"We're not together anymore," I said, tossing a stick into the fire, avoiding their gazes. "She is married to a doctor."

There was an awkward silence.

"Married? Already?" Gimli was astounded. "Oh, but the time change. She must be as old as you now."

"Yes," I said, thinking of something to change the subject.

Luckily, I didn't have to.

Pippin's shrill, terrified cry echoed throughout the campgrounds, and everyone leapt to their feet, running towards the sound.

_Coming little buddy! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about you two!

* * *

_

**READ AND REVIEW MY FRIENDS!!!!! small cliffie, but oh well. If I put in a cliffie, I will update faster. sorry for the wait.**


	3. The Palantir

**Hey my dears,**

**Sorry for the long wait, thank-you for your undying support. Here's your chapter, I'm sending cyber-cake to those of you who review. **

**God bless you all,**

**Pippin

* * *

**

**Chapter Three, the Palantír **

My heart was pounding in a way it hadn't pounded for years. I've been on rescue missions, saved lives, diffused a bomb or two, had difficult combat training—but this was different. Here, there was no technology, no weapons that operated on hard drives, and no hostages that had tracking devices.

It's only a hobbit this time…a hobbit that was closest to my age last time I was here, presumably the young kid of the group now. A hobbit that'd gotten a hold of something he shouldn't touch, and in turn, endured profuse torture in his mind.

I felt worry hugging me from all sides. Movies portrayed things differently than how they supposedly truly happened in the books, and I listened to them on tape years ago—not being a very good reader—and couldn't remember precisely what happened.

Our heavy shoes thudded over the soft, mossy turf towards the edge of the clearing. We went past the guards, drawn towards a huddled clump at the sloped bank of trees. He'd snuck past the guards! _Pippin, Pippin! Why must you?_

Gandalf reached him first, throwing himself on his knees. "So this is the thief!"

"Hey, Gandalf!" I cried cheerfully.

He did a double take as he pulled the unconscious Pippin into his arms. "Aha, so you're back, are you? Typical you show up for some trouble! Did you put him up to this?"

"No sir," I smiled softly and knelt next to him. "Hey…Buddy! Wake up!"

"I would not of guessed you, Pippin," Gandalf said, looking older…more haggard in appearance. "This is a grievous turn to things. What have you _done?_"

Pippin's eyes were glazed over, and he was rigid as if dead for hours. My heart felt like it was being slowly squeezed. _Why do the young ones have to suffer? This…this is an old peoples war. _

Suddenly Pippin sat straight up, nearly knocking Gandalf's chin with his head. He crawled backwards, crying, "It's not for you, Saruman!" his voice was shrill…like a ringwraith. "I'll come for it soon! Do you understand? Say just that!" he fell backwards weakly.

Gandalf scooted towards him and grabbed his arms. "Peregrin! Come back!"

It looked like a shockwave of power suddenly left Pippin's wild eyes and drifted out over the trees. He was the Pippin we knew—small, funny, venerable—and apologetic. "Gandalf, I am so sorry!" he began shivering violently. "Please forgive me!"

"Tell me what you did wrong," Gandalf urged.

"I took the black ball and looked at it!" Pippin was shaking in fright and fatigue. "He came and asked me questions!" he stopped talking and tried to shield his face from our steady gazes.

Merry turned to leave the cluster of us standing there, waiting and watching. I reached over the grabbed his shoulder. "Stay," I whispered. "He needs you."

Merry looked at me closely. "NATHAN?"

"SPEAK!" thundered Gandalf.

Pippin jerked, as if the power of Sauron was still resisting in his bones. With one last breath, Pippin began to slowly relate what had happened. He saw Minas Tirith—on fire—and saw several ringwraiths. Sauron came and began to torture him for information…Pippin only told him that he was a hobbit, and nothing more.

"He thought I was Saruman," Pippin concluded, sitting up by now but still shivering. "I…" he probably wanted to ask for forgiveness again but had no hope for it.

"There is no lie in your eyes, Peregrin Took," Gandalf said gently, with a hint of a smile. "A fool! But an honest fool, you remain. You endured many hurts—but we also have had a glimpse of the enemies plan. They plan to attack Minas Tirith, I believe. And much is explained."

"We finally understand the link between Isengard and Mordor," said King Théoden. "Saruman was supposed to take the hobbits to _him."_

_Well of course he was. They know hobbits have the ring. Why can't I just make them copies of the trilogy and make them read it? _

"Come, Peregrin," Gandalf helped him stand. "Go with Merry. We must leave—I'll come for you in a few minutes."

"Leave?" Pippin let himself be led back to camp by Merry. "Gandalf?"

Gandalf hastily went to the opposite end of camp, discussing 'important' things with Aragorn and Théoden.

"Why _leave_?" Pippin repeated as Merry tugged on his hand impatiently.

"Why _look_?" Merry shot back. "Why do you always have to _look_?"

"I don't know," Pippin lamented. He glanced over his shoulder at me.

Shock registered in his eyes.

"Merry!" he shrieked, stopping. Merry whirled around and looked too. Pippin's mouth dropped open, and his eyes were wider than I ever thought hobbit eyes could get.

"I know," Merry said proudly. "I saw him already."

"You, you," Pippin spluttered. He peered at me closely. "You look so old!"

"Mucho time passed in my world, though it be only a few days in yours," I said nonchalantly. _Whew, my fancy language skills are coming on_.

"It is good to see you!" Pippin threw his arms around my leg. I bent down and gave him a better hug.

"C'mon, Merry, share the luv!" I said in a Jamaican accent. Merry went for a hug on the other side.

"We were so worried when you disappeared," Merry said, pulling back.

"One second, you were there, and then you and your friends were like…PUFF!" Pippin snapped his fingers. _Well, he learned from the master. _

"My horse?"

"With the others. Still a little tired for carrying two," Merry looked at me curiously. "Where are the other _humans_?"

"Gone," I said, pained to think of Lindy, Natalie, and James…probably wondering where I was. Natalie, with her ever-bright mind, may guess where I was. I told her all my stories—calling my first girlfriend 'Lesley'. She might be very well explaining to her mother, at this moment, "He's gone back to help Legless!"

"Dead?" Pippin asked. Merry elbowed him.

"No, not dead," I said, remembering the drunken man waving around the revolver in Lindy's face. "Just back in my own world, leading normal lives with family and children.

Merry nodded knowingly. "Why don't we get some sleep?"

"You may," said Gandalf's voice. He rode up on the silver Shadowfax, glinting in the starlight. "But Pippin must come with me. We ride to Minas Tirith."

"But what about Merry?" cried Pippin, looking completely panicked.

Gandalf did not answer.

I helped Pippin onto the horse. "Merry," he said over and over. "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know," Merry was backing away, on the verge of tears. "Gandalf will look after you. We'll come to Minas Tirith later, won't we?" he glanced at me.

"I'll come now," I said, without really thinking. I couldn't let them go off by themselves. Without Merry, Pippin would need someone. Gandalf would be busy. I had no intention of going on the paths of the dead.

"Really?" Pippin brightened.

"Yes," I said, feeling good about my decision. "I'll come with you. I'll look after him, Merry. You have nothing to worry about."

"Thank-you," Merry told me, creeping up to Shadowfax and poking Pippin's outstretched hand. "Take…take care, Pip. I'll see you soon."

"I need my horse," I said.

"He won't keep up with Shadowfax," Gandalf said grumpily. "You'll slow us down."

"If you can stay a few miles ahead of me where I can see you, that'd be fine, too," I said hastily, watching Merry scamper off. "But I'm going whether you like it or not."

Gandalf sighed.

Merry led my horse back—the one given to me for my use without much thought just after Helm's Deep. I was happy to see him—I hadn't wanted to walk all the way to Isengard with my leg as torn up as it was. I still have scars…they look pretty cool.

"Thanks, Merry," I ruffled his hair and hopped onto my horse with ease. OK…so I had gotten taller.

"Bye, Merry," said Pippin chokingly.

"Bye, Pippin," he replied, tearfully.

Gandalf whispered something to his horse, and Shadowfax bolted into the night. Legolas and Gimli and Aragorn came at a run, a little miffed at Gandalf for skipping goodbyes. I shook each of their hands in turn, saying goodbye, and clucked to my horse.

"See you soon!" I shouted, my horse galloping madly to catch up with Shadowfax.

_Now for Minas Tirith.

* * *

_

**READ AND REVIEW! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO!**


	4. Minas Tirith

**Helloooooo everyone! Normally I take turns updating my stories (it's "I was King of Narnia's" turn) but I'm updating this one twice in a row because…well…I'm in the mood! So I think I deserve some reviews! For some of you 'lurkers' who read and NOT review, please leave a note!**

**God Bless to all!**

**Pippin

* * *

**

**Chapter Four, Minas Tirith**

I expected a much, much longer and grueling journey than we had. It was only a four days ride—and my horse kept up with Shadowfax well enough. We passed relatively quickly through the gray lands in dawn, yellow fields by day, and blue passes by night. There was not much talking, save hushed tones between Pippin and Gandalf, of which I had no part. _My fancy language skills are coming back. Sweet. _

We came to an outpost, where Gandalf and Pippin were questioned about their doings. Gandalf had an easier time explaining Pippin, since they knew of Frodo's journey, but had a harder time explaining me away.

Ingold, the guard, told Gandalf they had no want for strangers unless they bore arms against the enemy. Gandalf hurriedly told him that I, indeed, had weapons that surpassed his own.

How Gandalf knew this—I have no idea. I didn't remember mentioned my gun and tons of bullets kept in my belt. Anywho, he's a wizard, so I ask no questions!

"I do plan on fighting for Minas Tirith when the time comes," I told Ingold.

"Alas, that time is here, for the beacons have been lit," he replied. "But it is better to be a few moments late than to never arrive at all."

With that, we closed conversation and continued riding—and do I even need to say it? I found it really boring. But that's just me. Shadowfax liked it. But no one asked him.

"The hobbit is asleep," said Gandalf on the last night, drawing Shadowfax closer to my horse.

"Aha," I replied. I suppose Gandalf wanted to discuss something.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well, what?"

"Have you not some questions to ask, like you always do?"

I thought about it. "Uh, no actually, I'm good. I know perfectly well what's going on." I'd watched the movies a few days before the mission that knocked me into Middle-Earth, so I was pretty well caught up.

"You are very much changed," Gandalf said.

"I know, weird, huh?"

"I don't suppose you WANT to explain the time-change that is messing up your world?"

This could last for hours upon end. Gandalf likes a good monologue and debate. The two combined? I'd fall asleep riding.

"No, not really," I laughed. "I don't understand it fully myself." I wiped my auburn hair out of my eyes. _I need a shower! _

"I feel like I'm speaking to Boromir," Gandalf chuckled.

I blinked. "What…what did you say?"

"You had similar mannerisms—slight, but they were there. And now that you're are—excuse the term—so _old _compared to a few days ago, it's as if Boromir is back. The missing adult."

I wasn't sure if it was some sort of compliment. But I loved Boromir like a brother, so I was going to take it as one. "Thanks," I said.

"Thanks? Stuff and nonsense!" Gandalf huffed.

"I loved Boromir," I said seriously. "If I can be anything like him, even in some way as small as mannerisms, it's a large compliment."

"I loved Boromir too…" Gandalf said so softly I almost did not hear him. So Gandalf does have a little emotion sometimes—other than grumpiness.

The rest of the ride, even after Pippin woke up, was silent.

We came over the brink of the hill in the gray of a stormy evening. Black clouds loomed over a near mountain range. I felt a strange apprehension grip my heart—Mordor! The real one…not the movie one. The mountain range bordering its lands looked calm and tame in the movie. These mountains were tall, and jagged, like a row of black teeth. A red light hung over it, lighting the underbellies of the black clouds. It gave it a barbecue look—red hot coals roasting—to put it poetically.

Minas Tirith was a sight to behold. It was wider and shorter than the movie one, looking more like a bulwark chunk that a fancy church spire. But it did have mega-beauty. The white stone was glimmering, the round levels were built into the mountainside, and the Anduin sprinkled between the Pelennor fields and the Brown lands—which were out of sight. Banners sifted through the wind, the sound of silver trumpets were heard.

We galloped across the fields. Shadowfax pulled ahead more than usual, Gandalf took one look at the clouds and left me in his steed's dust.

Naturally, I pressed my horse harder to try and keep up—then my horse lurched and stumbled. I nearly fell out and grasped the saddle horn. The horse stopped, and stayed still, panting.

_Horses are NOT supposed to pant like that! _

I slipped out of the saddle and lifted the right front leg, examining the large stone embedded in its hoof. I managed to dig it out, but I had to lead my horse the rest of the way.

By the time I got to Minas Tirith, it was REALLY getting dark and I was feeling continually nervous. Gandalf would be done talking with Denethor by now—and if he wasn't—Pippin was wandering about the city with that one dudes son. _Beregond? Was that the name? Darnit if there isn't a test later! I bet there will be and I'll fail!_

The gates creaked open upon my arrival. Guards were on either side, and opened their mouths.

I threw up a hand. "Please! Let's not jump to conclusions! I'm with Gandalf."

"He said we should expect you, but not this late," said the guard. "But go on, Frank will take your horse."

_Frank? That doesn't sound Middle Earthish! Well, I guess neither does Sam, nor Bill the pony. Not compared to Legolas and Gimli, anyways. _

I let Frank take my horse, giving it an affectionate pat on the flank. "You did good, little fella. Do you have a name? I might have named you, but it's been many, many years, and I don't remember your name. We're gonna call you Shrek, how's that?"

Frank looked at me curiously but asked no questions. "You can go on up to the inn," he said, pointing me in the right direction. "If you have trouble finding it, ask anyone. It has a green door. Your Halfling friend is staying there."

"Aha," I replied, giving Shrek another pat on the side as he went by. I trotted nonchalantly up the rising incline to go into the city. The ancient stonework and pillars and spires and arches and columns were amazing and bit much for me to handle.

I found the inn after two wrongs turns and the decency to ask for directions—something that seemed harder for me than to cut off an orc head. The woman who obliged me seemed particularly amused at my stuttering and stumbling over… The Question. _Excuse me, but can you tell me where to find…? HUMILIATING! We can kill six orcs easily but can't find a freakin hotel._

But find it I did, and Pippin was probably the saddest, most homesick hobbit I have ever seen when I got there. I don't think I helped much—he showed me where to sleep, and I went right to sleep. I didn't feel so bad because he wanted to explore a little unhindered by any Big People.

And that's fine with me, because I was nearly sleepwalking, and I wanted to find a shower. _But I don't think they're installed yet._ _Oooor…try invented!

* * *

_

**Well, that's all for now, folks! Be good and review PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**God bless!**


	5. Princess of Dol Amroth

**Man, do I love you guys or what?? Third chapter in a row!!! I am seriously abusing the reviewers dedicated to my other stories. They haven't had updates in weeks! So count yourselves lucky, I was considering staying off the internet all day today…(yeah, that really worked)…**

**God bless!!!**

**Pippin

* * *

**

**Chapter Five, Princess of Dol Amroth**

_Hey…I'm in a bed. Nice…soft bed. Bed smells like lavender. Pretty bed. _

"Nate!"

_Who DARES disturb my slumber?_

"Nah-THUN!"

_Rar. You can't see me. I'm not here. It's your imagination. _

"I'm exploring with Bergil! You've naught to do, you must come along. More captains and soldiers are arriving to-day, it is two hours past noon!"

_Aha, so Pippin DID meet Beregond's son. And I got his name right too—I think. _

"Nathan, you've time to clean up if you like, Bergil and I have had our breakfast already…you've slept for ages upon ages."

_Did he say breakfast? _

"Did you say breakfast?" I asked, easing out from under the blankets. "And cleaning up?"

Pippin gave me a frown for keeping him waiting for so long. "So, you've awaked, have you? And I said breakfast, but it is more like supper."

"More or less."

Pippin pointed towards a door opposite the bed. "You've time to take a bath. And supper," he gestured to a tray on the table by the window overlooking the fields, "has been left for you by some kind hobbit mostly forgotten. You can meet Bergil and I on the balcony just down the left street."

I struggled out of the sheets and smiled gratefully. "Thank-you, Pippin."

"Words of appreciation," Pippin stated as if they were not known to the hobbit race. "I'm not baggage for you at all! Not mistaken for a dirty bag, not at all. A simple thank-you. Sounds like springtime, does it not?"

"Uh…if spring could speak," I said hastily, beginning a ravished attack on the tray of food.

"Impossible," sighed Pippin. "See you there in twenty minutes?"

I glanced at him. "Ten minutos. _Comprende_?"

"You humans just don't appreciate bath time," Pippin shook his head. "No song-singing?"

"Not without my showerhead microphone."

Pippin gazed wordlessly at me, trying to understand what I said. "Never you mind. See you."

"Fare thee well, Peregrin Took," I inhaled the last bit of toast, egg, slab of pork, and potato chunk. Pippin fled and closed the door with a bang, waving to a small boy who'd been peering through the window at us for quite some time.

Within my allotment of ten minutes (me being nice and clean! Yay!), we were overlooking the street some twenty feet below us. The street was below, then curved around and went up the hill, until it passed at our ground level to our right. Trumpets were ringing and banners were waving—it was a regular Middle-Earth parade. Colors of green, blue, brown decorated the different mountain clans and bordering country allies. It seemed like many to us, but there was a mere two hundred in one group, fifty in another. The numbers were too small to win this war.

I smiled. _But it is not won by numbers. A simple hobbit wins this war single-handedly—let's rephrase that—four fingered. _

"Where is your attention?" Bergil asked stoutly, a small boy of twelve, maybe eleven years old. "The Prince of Dol Amroth is next, and he brings seven hundred and twenty-five to us! He is certainly one of the greatest fighting men—other than my father, of course," he grinned proudly. "They're the ones—there—with the gray banners. The sign of the Ship and Swan! Captain of Belfalas!" he was cheering with the crowd now. "Prince Imrahil!"

"He has two daughters, doesn't he?" I asked casually.

"Three," Bergil replied.

"No…" I shook my head. "There's two. One of them was Finnylass, and she married Denethor, and had Boromir and Faramir. The other is the eldest in the family." I distinctly remembered this information from the "Thain's Book" encyclopedia.

"First of all," said Bergil irritably, "It's Finduilas, not Finnylass! And second, the eldest daughter is ruling Dol Amroth in his stead. Thirdly, the youngest sister often rides here to entertain herself in our grand library. I've seen her."

"What might her name be?" Bergil must be making it up. Imrahil had two sisters, no more. The Thain's book knows everything…almost!

"Brichaela," Bergil said indignantly like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Pronounced Bree-cay-LAH, or Bree-CAY-lah?" I asked, trying to be a pain. I couldn't help it. Bergil was fine for Pippin, but he kind of got on my nerves. I'm not used to little boys—Natalie's my home girl.

Bergil merely glanced at me, and chose to ignore. Okay.

The sun was beginning to dip away.

"Shall I take you back to Lampwright's Street?" Bergil asked.

"Yes, let's go," Pippin said eagerly, beginning to head back to our inn with Bergil. He stopped and glanced back at me. "Are you coming?"

"Me?" I asked. "No, I think I'll go see my horse. I'll find my own way back."

"Very well!" Pippin said brightly, turning with Bergil. I'm glad he found a companion—he hadn't mentioned Merry at all—he's not too depressed, obviously.

I dusted my pants off and wondered if I could get a change of clothes. But first, to see Shrek.

I asked for directions (it gets easier after four or five times) and went down to the stables. Shrek and Shadowfax were being stabled together, and casually nosing each other through the wooden bars separating them.

"Hey, Shrek," I said, approaching the stall. Shrek glanced towards me, and took two eager steps towards the entrance.

"That's right," I said, "I'm back to see you!" I lifted the latch and stepped inside, reaching out with my hand. Shrek sniffed my hand and tried to nibble my fingers. I jerked them out from between his teeth and patted him down the neck. I checked his hoof—it seemed perfectly fine—found a bush, and began grooming a few burrs from his shoulders. Shrek was busy munching a piece of hay and making happy little horse noises.

Feeling perfectly content, I began humming softly and doing drumbeats with my fingers on Shrek's neck. When he flattened his ears for a moment, I stopped that nonsense and continued humming by itself. _No wonder the Rohirrim do this for a living. I could do this all day. _

"That is a sweet nag you have there," said a feminine voice.

On instinct, I smiled like Harrison Ford, then quickly wiped it off. Peering over Shrek's back, I spotted a lovely young lady outside the stall, peering in.

"He's actually a warhorse," I corrected politely. _I don't care how beautiful you are, Shrek ain't a nag!_

"Aha," the lady peered closer at Shrek. "So he is! And a fine one, too. What do you call him?"

"Shrek," I said quickly, suddenly hating myself for giving him such a dishonorable name. "Shrek the Black Arrow," I added, cringing at the corny name that popped out of my mouth. "Actually, it's just Shrek. A simple name for a simple, but strong, horse."

"He does not need any name embellishments," she stated simply. "And what might be your name?"

"Nathanial, uh, son of Harold!" I blurted. "Everyone calls me Nate, expect for Gandalf the White."

Her eyes gleamed with excitement. "You know Mithrandir?"

"Personally."

"How exciting to know a wizard!" she said, folding her hands. "Does he cast spells? Does he turn people into frogs? Does he ride on a broom?"

_Since when does ANYONE in Middle-Earth ride on a broom? What end of Middle Earth is she from? What, is there a Hogwarts somewhere in Belfalas now?_

"One question at a time," I said, holding up a hand. I thought for a second. "Actually, I don't remember your questions. What was the first one?"

She laughed out loud. It was a long, loud guffaw, like someone extremely hyperactive with no oxygen. You could relate it to a walrus. Or a dragon.

She slapped a hand over her mouth. "I beg your pardon. I'm normally not that loud." She watched me as I lifted the handle and stepped out of the stall. Shrek flipped his tail in annoyance.

"So, who are you?" I asked finally.

"I'm sorry, I forgot!" she grinned sheepishly. Bright orange freckles leaped out on her cheeks and nose—apparently, that was some kind of blushing. The freckles clashed with her dishwater blonde hair. Her greenish eyes was small, and when she smiled, they disappeared entirely. I must admit, on paper it looks terrible—but she's truly gorgeous.

"I'm Brichaela of Dol Amroth," she said, extending a hand.

I shook it. _People don't shake hands in Middle-Earth. This is one strange chick. _"Aha, Princess? Sister of Prince Imrahil?" I began to lower my head.

"Don't bow!" she shrieked suddenly.

I glanced at her.

"I don't like bowing!" she exclaimed.

"Oh," I replied, raising my eyebrows. "Well good. Because I don't like doing it."

She laughed and snorted. "You are very amusing, Nate son of Harold. I like you immensely. Pray, where are you from? How do you know Mithrandir?"

_She is not only strange, she's pretty forward for a half-elvish princess. _"I'm from a little place…" I paused and pointed to a random wall. "That direction. I've traveled with Mithrandir from his starting point in Rivendell, and traveled with the hobbits, and the Dunedain, and Legolas of Mirkwood…"

"You traveled with the fellowship of the ring," Brichaela's eyes hardened. "You are the tenth member—the boy they spoke of!" she looked at me curiously. "You're no boy. Where do you hail from? Bree? An unknown place of man?"

I sighed, wondering what the hard look in her eyes had meant, as if she resented my place as a tenth walker. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. And I'd hate to offend a princess. My location remains strictly anonymous."

"Such strange clothes you wear," Brichaela looked at my dirty and torn FBI uniform. Her eyes widened at my gun. "What is that?"

"It's called a gun," I said in a narrator voice.

"Of course it is," she snapped.

"A glock, actually," I replied, confused beyond all absolute reason.

"Impressive," she said, her annoyed look wiped away with a smile. "Whatever that means. I'd like to see you use it sometime."

"You won't," I tucked my gun back into my holster. "By then, the ladies will be long gone from this battle site."

"Who says I'm leaving?" Brichaela leaned towards me with an evil glint in her eye.

"Oh, no," I whispered. "Not another Eowyn!"

"Eowyn of Rohan? What do you mean?"

"You're planning on fighting in the battle," I accused. "Aren't you? You're gonna steal some armor and go behind your older brother's back, fighting ol' Sauron, huh?"

Brichaela folded her arms across her chest, the evil smile remaining. It gave me shivers. "I'd like to see someone try and stop me," she sneered.

"I'll do it if no one else can," I shook my head. "You really don't understand—this is going to be one of the bloodiest, most horrible, black battles ever occurred or will EVER occur on Middle-Earth soil. If you can get past the blood, the retching, the screams, the decapitating, the smell, the fear, the noise…"

Brichaela held of a hand. "Stop."

"I could go on, and on, Princess," I spat out 'Princess' like ol' Han Solo.

"You don't know the outcome," she said with that sickening smile. "unless you have some sort of palantir or book that foreshadows the future."

_Well, I don't have the book WITH me…_

"Furthermore," she continued, "Who are you to tell me what to do? You're no better than my brother."

"I know a thing or two about being a good brother," I said flatly.

"Annoying!" she spat.

"What is WRONG with your vocabulary?" I exclaimed. No one in Middle-Earth talked like that expect for me, and occasionally, and Fellowship member used one of my phrases. _She is whacko, I'm sure of it!_

"There is nothing wrong with my vocabulary," Brichaela said softly. With a softer voice, it held a slim trace of a British accent. "And there is nothing wrong here! We're just two newcomers tired from traveling and cranky with the world, right?"

"Sure," I said evenly, "Cranky." I emphasized that un-middle-earthish word.

"Friends?" she asked hopefully.

I cracked a smile. "Oh, sure. Why not?"

She turned and rushed from the stable, calling over her shoulder, "Meet me here tomorrow at ten!"

I stared after her, bewildered. _Meet at ten? Is she crazy?_ _What is this, a date or something?_

"Oh," she added, appearing again. "And let's go riding before battle—whenever its coming. I like Shrek, and you'll like my horse. Good-bye!"

_Yeah, it's a date all right. _

_I am never second-guessing a Middle-Earth woman ever again.

* * *

_

**READ AND REVIEW!!!!**


	6. The Steward of Gondor

**Dear Reviewers,**

**WELL NOW! I'm back from California, I had a marvelous time, saw dozens of family members…I did not get a tan. :-( **

**I spent the whole week writing this chapter three different ways in my head, and I've been ITCHING to get my fingers on the keys and type the darn thing up. SO I'm back to type and happy to do so!**

**--Pippin**

* * *

**Chapter Six, **

**The Steward of Gondor**

Minas Tirith gleamed like scrubbed river rock under the grayish sun. It wasn't very close to sun down, but things darkened in an early yellow twilight. Long, blue shadows shaded the streets that we walked along and quieted the normal road sounds. Men in uniform ducked by, glancing at the sky and hurrying along to some duties. The last of the wains, (caravans of people,) had disappeared down the crossroads—so the sound of women and children readying were gone, and things were left positively silent.

In a low tone, Gandalf was explaining to Pippin what _not_ to say in front of Denethor. We'd had our day of hanging out in Minas Tirith, and as late afternoon rolled around, it was time to see the Steward of Gondor himself.

We finally reached the peak of the city, shaped like the proud bow of a ship, where the dead white tree perched over a worthless pool of water that did nothing to feed its roots. Guards stood about it, so still and determined, I shuddered to think of that kind of job. Standing around all day guarding a tree? _That'd suck!_

We went to the front steps of the hall, which really wasn't anything spectacular in the front, just large, gray, and forbidding looking. The doors opened, but there did not appear to be anyone who opened them for us.

The hall was way too long. It made it awkward, walking towards Denethor with him staring at his lap, as if nothing else existed but the broken horn he held.

Tall, graven images of great kings among men lined the right and left, placed strategically between black pillars. At the end sat the throne atop cold steps, and on the lowest step, sat Denethor, like I said.

"Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion!" Gandalf cried in his announcement voice.

I had already tuned out the conversation with a conversation revolving around my own head. I knew from the moment it began that I was in big, big trouble.

_Now, Nathanial? Here you are in a nasty little pickle. You just HAD to get thrown here unawares, didn't you?_

_Um—FYI—not my fault!_

_But you know what's going to happen now, don't you?_

_Um, not really, but I have a feeling you are going to tell me. _

_You forgot your medication._

_What do you mean, FORGOT it? I would have grabbed it if I had the chance to pack! It's not my fault!_

_But things won't be so easy for you, will it?_

_Um…no. Now that I think about it, DOUBLE BLAST! What will I do without my meds? I'm going to go completely BALLISTIC! It's happening already! I'd having a conversation with myself! Lordy Lor, save me. _

_Ha ha, this could be really funny. You could blurt out something offensive and scare Denethor out of his wits._

_No, that would NOT be funny. I may have ADD but I'm not a fifteen year old dork._

_You once were._

_I know it, don't rub it in. I'm going to control myself. Pippin is, at this moment, telling Denethor about Boromir's death. I'm going to be content and patient—I'm not at all like I once was. I'm going to remain PERFECTLY CALM. _

_CALM CALM CALM! _

_It's not working._

_I'm just panicking. I never miss my darn medication, I'm as diligent with it as an older person getting it FED to them! _

_Do something funny or random. _

_I REFUSE!_

Pippin's brave, tiny voice came over my thoughts. He was pledging his services to Denethor. Denethor had forgotten all about Boromir, and was greedily accepting Pippin's offer with a strange glint in his eyes.

_Poor Pippin._ He loved Boromir so much he was offering his life to a madman.

"And I'm his manager!" I blurted out.

Gandalf and Denethor looked at me as if I had a pair of silver horns growing out of my head with blue fuzzy dice hanging off the end of them. Which was probably true.

_Nope, no horns._

"Which means," I stammered, "Pippin serves you, and I look after him. You get the whole package and my…" I cringed inwardly, "My utter devotion, but not my total services. I'll work part time. I go where Pippin goes." I stared deep into Denethor's eyes, trying to see if Star Wars mind tricks worked in Middle Earth.

His eyes were like cold, black granite. If you walked into them, you'd bounce off with a black eye and a concussion. I couldn't seem to find any weaknesses, which is absolutely necessary for a Jedi Mind Trick. _Dangit!_

"Boromir," I said, my voice shaking. _I've already missed two doses of my medication! _

"...Was one of my best friends," I continued. "He would have wanted me to…uh…hang out with you all. But I do not want to be confined to this hall. That's why I'll serve with Pippin. But you want fighters, Steward—your Honor—uh—sir. So when the time comes, I'll leave your presence and fight at the wall when battle comes—because you know it's coming, sir. And I want to be with Pippin, but I don't want to leave the war to everyone else while I sit idle twittling my thumbs!" _And having hyperactive attacks in my bedchamber. _

Denethor opened his mouth to reply, but I dared to interrupt.

"Boromir would have wanted me to!" I practically yelled.

Denethor glared, then softened, then glared again. Then he appeared to be seething, or wrestling with something, or whatever.

"Very well," he said, his voice low. "So be it."

_Okay, bravo for the randomness... But you still didn't get Gandalf to faint._

_That, I assure you, was not my intent. Nor was this part of the plan, but, like the Ol' Man Hisself said, "So be it!"_

* * *

**Sorry so short, but I ran out of time. Must go unpack. Leave reviews, and with any luck (my siblings might steal the computer) I'll update again tomorrow. **

**REVIEW!**

**God Bless!**

**Pippin**


	7. Darkness Falls

**Hey everyone,**

**Thanks for reviewing! I appreciate the thoughts and everything. **

**This chapter is not my normal type. I'm still not much for romance, but still…its kind of fluffy. It's not EXACTLY a fluff chapter, though…so…we'll call it fuzzy. It's a FUZZY chapter!**

**God Bless!**

* * *

**Chapter 7, Darkness Falls**

Gandalf muttered "Fool of a Took!" to himself all the way down to our inn.

"What have I DONE?" Pippin finally asked, sounding a little hysterical.

"Twas nothing you have done," Gandalf exclaimed, "But what THAT one has done!" he pointed at me, his eyebrows sticking out like ginourmous bristle brushes.

"Apparantly," I said to Pippin, thrusting my hands in my pockets and walking with ease down the hill. "He's running out of fustrated terms. 'Fool of a Took' now applies to any bothersome folk."

Pippin nodded drearily. "And my name is forever fixed with fools. How quaint."

Gandalf glared at me, and put an arm around Pippin. "Nay, dear Hobbit. It was simply a bad habit of Gandalf the Grey that will be amended with time."

Pippin brightened immediately.

I placed my foot casually into my mouth. Figuratively, that is.

A fancy group of folks were soon passing by us in the street. There were servants dressed in fine linens, and four guards in lofty silver helms. They all surrounded a small, familiar figure.

"Hullo, Brichaela!" I called, being friendly.

One of the guards leapt towards me, his spear looking itchy to kill someone. "How darest thou address a Princess of Dol Amroth?" he growled.

I held up both hands. "I beg your leave, sir!" my voice automatically adapted into some sort of British accent. Darn voice. "Her ladyship and I were introduced this afternoon on very informal terms. I was making a mistake in my manners, sir. I pray her Highness," I peered over the shoulder of the knight at Brichaela. "Will forgive a humble walker?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Brichaela. "Do let him by, Sir Miner, he is quite harmless!"

I rolled my eyes. Harmless, indeed!

"And personal friend of Mithrandir!" called Gandalf, who had continued walking without me. "I vouch for his goodness."

"With my thanks," I called back to him.

"You never spoke fair speech like that for MY benefit," quipped Gandalf, pausing by the corner.

"Princess Brichaela is not a grumpy wizard with facial hair," I quipped in return.

Gandalf stiffened. "Come Pippin! We shall leave Nathanial to his devilries!"

"Right away!" Pippin nodded sternly. When Gandalf's back was turn, Pippin casually glanced over his shoulder at me, winking, and giving a nod towards Brichaela.

"Pray, Nathanial," called Brichaela, as her guards were trying to move her along. "Wilt thou walk with me?"

_Wilt thou? _

"Yes, m'lady," I hid my surprise. "Anything you command."

"You may go on ahead," Brichaela told her guards and servants. "Nathanial is one of the Ten Walkers—you've heard his stories of valor. I'm quite safe with him."

The guards grumbled but obeyed.

For some seconds, we walked side by side in silence, and I waited till her guards disappeared.

"I admit," I began to get a conversation rolling. "I was a little surprise at your usage of Wilt Thou."

"I thought you would bring that up," Brichaela's eyes glittered as we passed each house lantern. The sun had long gone down, ad windows were blinking friendly light. War and horror seemed far away. I wish Frank Sinatra had been playing somewhere nearby.

"But you've explained that yourself," Brichaela said cheerfully. The carefree, forwardness she'd had in the stable was quite gone. "We met on very informal terms. I have several manners of speech, Nathanial son of Harold. I admit, it is in a stable with the creatures I love that I become MOST careless and speak like the youngest of hobbits. This is, rather, how I normally speak—properly. Do…do you find it unagreeable?" her eyes looked concerned.

"On the contrary, your Highness," I said quickly. I'd lost the British accent on the road back there. "I find it most agreeable. See, I can do it to!"

"So you can, but I really prefer your manner of speech. Do not stop, if you can! I'd speak more like you if I could. But just because I am a Princess doesn't mean I get everything I want, now, does it?"

"Quite true!" I agreed, glancing at her profile. _She looks elvish in the dark. She's so pretty! OK, don't be dumb, make that beautiful!!_

"When we go riding tomorrow, I can speak just like you, if you like!" Brichaela said excitedly.

"Whatever makes you happiest," I replied easily.

_Nathan, you've got that feeling again. Like the one you had with Lindy!_

_This is different, this is nothing like high school._

_Yeah, it's even worse—it's wartime! _

_It's obvious we have chemistry, here, though. The least __I __can do is be a gentleman and see where this leads! Now that's enough out of you! _

"Nathanial, I've lost you," Brichaela said, laughing softly—much too softly for that cute little snort to pop out.

"Never!" I said in my Harrison Ford voice. Dangit, I hadn't mean to sound flirty like that! "Your Highness," I added hastily.

"Please. Call me Brichaela."

"Call me Nate. Or Nathan. None of that Nathanial son of Harold business."

Brichaela nodded contentedly. Then she shivered. "The very air feels black," she declared quietly.

"Are you cold? I'm sorry…"

"No, but the evil chills my bones. It's so dark out, and it's barely nine o'clock."

"Sauron sends his darkness before the army to ease their passage," I explained to her. _Ah, knowledge is power! Really! _"It's no normal sundown. There will be no dawn tomorrow. We may have to postpone our riding."

"That IS disappointing," Brichaela pouted. "Then the war IS coming?"

"Tomorrow, at the earliest," I said quietly. "Can you not tell?"

"I try to ignore."

"Were you serious about fighting in battle?" I asked casually.

"Serious, but impossible," Brichaela replied. "My guards stay about me like hounds. I could try, but I couldn't, fight. But my heart longs to help my brother in this cause. The fate of Middle Earth rests on it, you know?"

"Yes," I mused quietly, "Yes I know."

"We will go riding sometime," Brichaela switched subjects.

"At first light of the New Age!" I added.

"You seem so sure and confident."

"It's all I know."

"But," Brichaela said despairingly, "We could be dead at this time tomorrow, and all of Minas Tirith could be in utter ruin and flame."

"Yes hope remains," I decided to quote Galadriel. She'll forgive me. "We won't fail."

"It warms my heart to hear you say all that, unfiltered by 'buts' and 'what-ifs'. I envy your confidence."

"And I your fair speech."

Brichaela giggled and one teeny tiny hopeless snort followed. "Oh, hang all formalities!" she exclaimed. "I want to see you again, Nate."

"So do I."

"You want to see yourself?"

"No! I want to see you more."

"Oh."

"I'd ask you out to dinner if times were different," I said. _Or if we were on my OWN planet!_

"That IS a strange thing," Brichaela said teasingly. "Here, you'd spend time with my brother, and I would wait on both of you, and you'd see me work, like it, and then ask me to marry you!" she suddenly stopped short, realizing she'd explained the whole courtship process to me as if I were student and she were teacher.

"Is that so?" I said casually, "Where I'm from, I'd take you on all sorts of activities—that's called dating—then I'd ask your Father's opinion for me to marry you. I'm old fashioned that way."

"Um, dare I ask, what's the new fashion?"

I grinned cheekily. "I fear that would cause me to blush too much."

"Where is it that you are from?" she asked.

"Another world," I replied. _Oops. Cat's out of the bag. _

"I know," she said suddenly.

"You know?" I asked.

"Everyone knows," she laughed, "I just wanted you to tell me yourself."

"Any particular reason why?"

"I cannot think of any," mused Brichaela. "Well, here is where I stop, Nate. I'm staying at this inn. May I see you tomorrow?"

"If Denethor gives me leave, I'm kind of working for him."

"Very well," she said.

"See ya," I said uncomfortably.

"Farewell," she smiled, opening the door and slipping inside. It clicked shut before I could remember the elvish word for goodbye.

I turned and went back down the quiet street toward MY inn. I skipped a little. Then, I spotted a lamppost, ran over, and danced around it.

"I'm SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGING in the rain, just singing in the rain!" I sang loudly.

By the time I got back, I'd sang the song three times. Then I sang the song from 'Brigadoon' once. I was in a Gene Kelly mood.

The inn looked sleepy, lights were on and waiting for me.

_It's almost like being in love..._

* * *

**There you go! There's the fuzzy chapter. Hope you forgive the long wait! **

**God Bless!**

**Pippin**

**PS: Review please! It's not hard, it takes thirty seconds, and it makes me update faster. **


	8. Singing for Denethor

**Huntress—**Unusual, but not weird. In fact, you've given me the hugest compliment I've ever received on this story. If I can create a fictional character good enough to be crushed on, than I've done my job and I'm blushing with pleasure to the roots of my hair!! Thanks! And please, keep reviewing. New reviewers (especially lurkers) are ALWAYS welcome!

**Laer—**hey, thanks! I know, I absolutely love that song, and I could help but imagine that singing around the streets and lamppost was too 'Natish' to pass up.

**Friar Jerome—**hehe, I'm updating twice in a row JUST FOR YOU! Well, okay, maybe not JUST for you, but because you urge me on so. lol. I've updated what, three times in a row, now? Now you need to update YOUR story!

**Stargirl—**oh my! Wisconsin sounds like loads of fun. And it makes me feel special that you wanted to see these updates so badly. College, eh? My older sister is going into college this august too! And then it's MY turn next summer…scary, isn't it?

**Saeros—**short, sweet, and to the point. Good for you. Thanks for your review!

* * *

**Anyways, all of you, I'm in such a LOTR mood right now its not even funny. I'm halfway through the Two Towers (the movie) right now and will probably finish return of the king on Saturday. Lol. And I can't stop updating this story, its just too fun. Thanks for all your support. **

**God bless!**

* * *

* * *

**Chapter 8, Singing For Denethor**

I opened my bleary eyes to find Gandalf hovering over me, shaking me awake. His voice sounded much too loud.

"Time to get up!" he growled.

I blinked. "Who are you?"

"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Gandalf.

"Just kidding," I groaned and rolled out of bed, landing on the hard floor with a solid _thud. _"OW!"

"Come, Nate, there's breakfast! But it isn't much, I'm afraid," Pippin sat against the wall, chewing on a chunk of bread. "We've been ordered to go see Denethor."

"Better clean your vocal chords, Pip," I muttered, untangling myself out of the sheets that I'd taken with me.

Pippin paid no attention to my last comment, but handed me a piece of bread and a small cup of milk.

"Starving us to death?" I asked Gandalf, who stood at the window with his back to us.

"It's all you'll get till noon," Gandalf pulled back the curtain farther, and it still appeared to be early morning outside. It was black, brown, and gray outside, like the tiny hour of despair just before the sun peeks over the mountains.

"Yes, we must STARVE!" I started wailing in my Gollum voice. "FAMISHED, we are, yessss, precious, we are famished!"

Pippin's mouth had fallen open, and some unfinished bread fell out.

Gandalf whirled around and glared at me. "NATHANIAL!" he growled. "Words of that wretched creature need not be uttered! Shut your mouth and eat your breakfast."

I pondered that for a moment. "Um, how can I shut my mouth and eat my breakfast?"

"You are a smart lad, figure it out," Gandalf snapped.

I must have followed his advice, because the inadequate food was finished five minutes later.

And then, we were on our way to see yet another grumpy old man with naught better to do than tell other people what to do and wallow in…ummm…crankiness.

----

"Can you sing?" Denethor asked Pippin.

"Yes, well, good enough for my own people," Pippin stammered, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "But we have no songs fit for kingly halls, or dark times, Lord. Ours are comic songs of food and pleasure, begging your pardon, sir."

"And WHY should your songs be unfit for my halls?" Denethor said, sighing. "Never you mind, for the moment."

I blinked. _Bah! He sang in the movie. Oh well. Different than the books I suppose. It's all so confusing._

Instead, Denethor sent Pippin away, to clothe himself in 'livery of the tower'—aka—armor, sword, helmet, mail, etc. _Uncomfortable._

"What about me?" I asked, during a pause between Denethor and Gandalf's lengthy discussion about Rohan.

"Later," Denethor waved his hand distractedly.

I sighed and started tapping my foot lightly. I'd done nothing but stand there for ages. And ages. And ages again!

Gandalf left us.

Denethor turned and looked at me coolly, regarding my strange clothes. We met eyes and he certainly expected me to bow my head gracefully. I did no such thing—I glared right back.

"Can YOU sing?" he asked.

"Me?" my voice squeaked like a voice-changing twelve year old.

"No, my fallen forefathers—yes, you," Denethor spat out the sarcasm.

"Yes!" I exclaimed, as if it were obvious. "I do sing! I sing very well, thank-you very much. I'm a tenor and a baritone."

"Sing something."

"Now?"

"YES, NOW." Denethor was not pleased with me. _I don't blame him._

I opened my mouth to sing, then stopped. What was I going to sing? _Pippin's song? Nah. I'll do something my own way. _

"_Where once was light," _I began.

_Now darkness falls._

_Where once was love,_

_Love is no more._

_Don't say goodbye._

_Don't say I didn't try._

_These tears you cry,_

_Are falling rain…_

_Are all the lies you told us_

_The hurt, the blame—_

_And we will wait, _

_To face the end alone_

_We are lost…_

_We can never…go home._

_So in the end, I'll be what I will be…_

_No loyal friend was ever there for me!_

_Now we say goodbye, _

_We say—_

_You didn't try. _

_These tears you cry,_

_Have come too late!_

_Take back the lies you told us,_

_The hurt, the blame…_

_And you will wait_

_When YOU face the end alone,_

_You are lost…_

_You can never…_

_Go home._

_We are lost, we can never…go home. _

Depressing, but Gollum's song was just so much more FITTING for Denethor.

He glared straight ahead, past me, and into the distance, as if I didn't exist anymore. Oh well, I'd sang what I wanted to, and he didn't like it—so that's his fault.

"Milord!" cried a guard, running into the room suddenly. He bowed.

"Speak," said Denethor.

"Captain Faramir is riding to Minas Tirith ere we speak, they are being attacked by the Nazgul!"

* * *

**Sorry so short, but updating daily means MORE chapters, just shorter! Love to all, God bless ev-er-y-one!**

**Love,**

**Pippin**


	9. Faramir and Stowick

**Hey peoples!**

**Thanks for all your loverly reviews while I was gone. I was camping in Washington with a bunch of Vineyard church friends. I thought about this chapter the whole time!**

**God Bless!**

* * *

**Disclaimer:**

**Tolkien owns all…he wrote all, he inspired all…**

**That is, except…**

* * *

**Chapter 9, Faramir and Stowick**

I'd run outside and hadn't even noticed whether Denethor cared or not, and didn't bother to ask permission, either. I ran for the stairs, wishing I had my skateboard to just leap over them instead (except I hadn't skateboarded for about five years), hit the ground below at a sprint, and continued down the road.

Suddenly, I stopped short when I heard Pippin give a shrill yell. I backtracked to a small outlet of the road, where it stretched into some sort of balcony perched on the rooftop of the house on the level before it.

The balcony gave a clear view of the Pelennor fields, and a group of horsemen were moving with all speed to the Gate.

Pippin was crouched by the wall, peering over the edge with wide eyes, shouting, "GANDALF! Save him!"

I skidded in beside him, and asked, "What is going on?"

"Go on, White Rider! Go on!" cheered Pippin like at a football game. He suddenly turned to me. "The Nazgul are after them! And Beregond has left me."

"I'm sure he has some duties to perform," I began, when I was cut off by the scream of a Nazgul.

I'd forgotten what their scream was like. Immediately the blood drained from my head and the world dimmed, as if it were a black and white film. I dropped to my knees next to Pippin and tried to shake the cobwebs from my head. The scream was a wail, high-pitched and piercing. A glass window shattered somewhere. The scream echoed again, spreading despair and fear like a disease.

Pippin fell as well and covered his ears with his hands.

"Come on, Pippin!" I forced myself to act. "Let's get down to the gate and see Captain Faramir!"

I hoisted him up and together we ran for the road, and during the next ten minutes, made all haste to the gate. When we reached it, it was already overrun by crowds of citizens and soldiers running to help Faramir and what was left of his men.

"Faramir, Faramir!" cheered Pippin, pumping his fist and waving with the other Gondorians, yelling for their captain.

Hearing Pippin's high voice among the others, Faramir suddenly turned and saw him. The reaction was evident—he was surprised—let's say brutally SHOCKED, and his gray eyes darted from Pippin to Gandalf (who, uh, showed up somewhere in the crowd and stood there like he'd run down with us) and back again.

For a moment, I'd forgotten who I was looking at. I was carried back to the past for a second, and it was not in Minas Tirith, but in Rivendell, meeting the dude who would become one of my brothers.

_Boromir road up too. I waved to him… "Hail, Boromir!" I called. He waved politely. "What news of Gondor?" I called. A smile brightened his face. "Osgilioth has been retaken!" he called. _

"Boromir," I whispered. _They look so much alike. _

Faramir glanced at me, his gray eyes huge. Apparently he heard me say his brothers name. Oops.

"I'm… I am Faramir," he suddenly exclaimed to me, "Who are you?" then, he turned to Pippin. "And moreover, who are YOU? A Halfling! In livery of the Tower! Whence came you? Whence…"

"Now is not the time," Gandalf interjected, still perched on Shadowfax, having just scared away a bunch of Nazgul and the wizard didn't even look winded. "We must go to Denethor immediately, and then we shall share our tales, for this is not the first Halfling you've seen!"

"Indeed not," Faramir said breathlessly.

Gandalf reached out and took Pippin's hand, brought him to Shadowfax's shoulders, and then he and Faramir both galloped off the Tower.

They left me behind!

…_those…uh…nerds!!! Fine then, I guess I'll get up there eventually._

"Please, sir, can you help me?" said a frail woman's voice.

I turned back to the chaos, where people were lowering the wounded gently to the ground off of the skittish horses. The woman, presumably about sixty years old, stood behind me, holding the reins of a horse panting heavily, and on its back was a soldier slumped over the saddle horn.

"Yes…yes, of course!" I stuttered, rushing to the horse's side. I reached up and gripped the young soldiers waist carefully, maneuvered the weight to my shoulder, and then carried the almost unconscious soldier off to the side. There was a stone bench sticking out of the wall by the edge of the courtyard, where I lowered the body.

"What's his name?" I asked the woman.

"Stowick," said the woman, wringing her hands together.

"Are you his mother?" my FBI mind was taking notes, when I didn't even really need that information. _Oh well, I don't want to lose ALL my good habits, now, do I? _

"No, no, I'm his guardian, he has no family."

"Aha," I was worried, I had no idea what to do. "Madam, I'm not a doctor, I'm a soldier. I'll watch over him for you, and you can find a healer, can't you?"

"Yes, yes…a healer!" the worried woman obviously hadn't thought of it, and rushed away before I could say another word.

"So, Stowick," I said quietly, wondering how old the kid was. He looked like he was my age—er—I mean—my old age. _About seventeen or so, dagnabit. That's what I meant. _"You look like you've had a tough time of it."

"You can gamble an elvish weapon on it!" erupted the injured young man, his eyes popping open so suddenly it looked like a scene from Aliens. It made me jump.

"I thought you were unconscious," I snapped.

Stowick cocked his head like a confused dog, but he didn't try to lift his head, he continued looking at the sky. "Well, I _was_. Is it agreeable to awaken at this hour? Or would you have me go back to slumber land?"

_Holy cow, Lord of the Rings sarcasm. You don't see much of that!_

"Uh, no, you can stay awake if you like," I stammered. "Um, you okay? Moreover, are you injured?"

Stowick raised an eyebrow, and looked like he was holding back a fierce chuckle. "How peculiar of you to ask," he said with a crooked smile, still staring upwards. "I've been attacked by a Nazgul Fell Beast, and you ask if there are injuries?" he appeared upset now. "YES, there are injuries! I feel like I've been roasted on a spicket for Sauron's steak banquet!"

I decided right then that I _WASN'T_ going to get into verbal war with this kid, which I was very fond of declaring—plus, he was amateur , so it wouldn't be fair to go against my experience.

"That does sound painful," I agreed, suddenly feeling extremely old. _Man, I was just like him about a week and a half ago in their time! Had I stayed we could have been best buds and done LOTS OF mischief! Well, okay, maybe its better this way._

"Okay," I changed tactics, "Where does it hurt?"

"The generously-sized claw pierced my armor just below the left rib cage," Stowick tried to explain without changing his position or even looking at me. "Just the skin near the outside, but it curved upwards and stabbed my shoulder without going all the way through. I think I got a pretty nasty blow to the head, but that's happened enough times that it never worries me anymore."

_Who are you, Stowick? My CLONE? _

"Well, I'm going to start with taking off your armor, do you mind?"

"Though I'd prefer removing it myself, Stranger, I think you'd better, just this once. What is your name?"

"Uh…" for a moment, my mind went blank. Did I HAVE a name? Was it Fred or Lucy? Wait, Lucy is Narnia, not Lord of the Rings. "Um…" I shook my head, wished for my ADHD medication (yeah, I know, previous records said I had ADD, but that's just cuz I didn't like admitting I had the whole caboodle.)

"You do HAVE a name, don't you?" repeated Stowick.

"NATHAN!" I exclaimed. "It's Nathan. Son of…Harold?"

"Don't ask ME, I don't know your lineage!"

"No, sorry, wasn't, asking, you…" I shook my head clear of the cobwebs, undid the buckles on either side of his torso, and lifted off the chest plate.

Stowick gasped so hard I thought he sucked every bit of oxygen from the place, and everyone else's production of carbon dioxide, while he was at it.

"Sorry," I whispered. "Did that hurt?"

"No," Stowick had shut his eyes and was breathing hard. "I…just…gasp…that…way…to…exercise…my…lungs!"

"Fancy _that," _I muttered, examining the ripped cotton shirt and the blood on it. It had appeared to stop bleeding, but the wounds appeared open and painful enough to guarantee a sigh of disgust, a shudder, and then a fuzzy head.

"Eew!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, is it THAT bad?" asked Stowick, trying to lift his head. It didn't work, and it clunked back into the stone bench. That's two headaches coming for him. "Ow," he muttered.

"Here comes that—uh—lady…" I said, not remembering if she'd told me her name or not.

"Oh, that's wonderful," said the boy—you guessed it—sarcastically. "She treats me as if I am naught older than eleven."

"How old ARE you?"

"Seventeen."

"I guessed as much."

"But if anyone asks you, I am nineteen, and OLD ENOUGH to serve under Captain Faramir, do you know what I am saying?"

I held back a grin. Lying about ones age and joining the army was never a good thing, no matter how noble the cause. "Yes, I DO know what you are saying."

"Good," Stowick replied, finally lifting himself slightly onto his right elbow. "Why, it's you!"

"Last time I checked," I said confusedly.

"Brichaela—that is, Princess of Dol Amroth—told me about you…"

"Aha," I said. Suddenly, I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. "You mean…" I stammered. "You and Brichaela are…are…" I couldn't think of the LOTR equivalent of dating. Maybe she was younger than she looked.

"Like THIS?" I finally said, crossing my fingers.

"Yes!" the boy replied suspiciously. "Why do YOU want to know?"

"N-nothing," I staggered, turning my face away.

_Dang you, Brichaela! Leading me on like that!_

_I thought we were going to…well, you know, get to KNOW each other. _

_Well, I mean, we can still be friends, but she should have told me! _

_I feel like such an idiot for flirting like that! _

_I would NEVER have flirted with a girl who was 'with' someone if I had known. But still, I could have SWORN that she hinted the same. _

_Maybe she isn't as cool as she appeared._

* * *

**READ, first, (that's a given) now PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! **

**It takes like, thirty seconds, doesn't require any personal info, I accept anonymous reviews, it's all quite simple! **

**And plus, reviews make me update faster. **

**So if you're a lurker—which means read but never comment—you're slowing me down, if you look at it with a Jack Sparrow mindset. **

**So review already, my chillins!**

**God bless you!**


	10. That Thing You Do!

Hey reviewers,

Thanks for all your nice comments. Here is the next chapter for your dining pleasure. Important author notice posted at the end.

God Bless!

Pippin

* * *

**CHAPTER ****10**

**That Thing You Do!**

Stowick, along with the other wounded, were carted away like loads of fish to the Houses of the Healing. I made a point to go find, speak, and maybe entertain him later. Just in the few moments we'd known each other I felt we were separated at birth. Minus the fact I was several years older than him.

But now, for the girl troubles. Contrary to normal arguments, they DO happen in Middle Earth. There is no escape from them, apparently—even if your body is thrown by an explosion into a separate universe. Despite my adultish way of approaching delicate matters such as these, I was nearly ready to throw a tantrum of fustration, which is a funny habit I'd developed in private for defense from the torture of the unknown future. And if you had any trouble understanding that, just imagine it all over again in a Jack Sparrow voice and it will all make sense.

I had a hard time finding the naughty haughty princess. She was undoubtedly busy somewhere, helping someone with her kind and generous, if rather deceitful, nature.

Walking up the sloped road of stone, I arrived in the midst of a busy crowd, and they were doing…something. It appeared to be the men were passing out armor to the younger people currently enlisting their services. I know I ought to have gone over and gotten some of the spare armor while there was some to be had, but I wanted to straighten things out with Brat-chaela first.

Wow, I am being unjust! I need to stop! STOP!

I slapped myself and continued onward.

"Nathanial! I've been looking for you!"

Speakin' of de devil…

"Have you?" I greeted coolly, looking at the bundle of energy emerging from the crowd I'd just passed through.

"Is there something wrong?" Brichaela asked immediately. "You did not heed my call as you passed within only eight feet of me! Are you ill?"

"I am certainly not ill," I said, peeved.

"Excellent," she replied nonchalantly. "Then can you assist me?"

"First, I have a question to ask, and I'd like to be blunt," I said.

"Proceed," Brichaela smiled.

"So, how come you did not tell me you were seeing someone?" I asked, reddening. It all sounded really fine in my head, but silly and childish coming out.

"I am seeing no one!" Brichaela exclaimed. "Otherwise, I would never allow you to walk me to my doorstep. That would be most improper."

"Would it?" I asked, pained.

"Yes," Brichaela said, her voice harsh as it took an angrier tone. "Are you accusing me of showing the fine art of flirtation while having a beau hiding in the shadows?"

"Not accusing, asking!" I changed tactics before something blew up. "What do you know about a young fellow named Stowick?"

Brichaela's manner melted into utter amusement. "Oh, him?"

"YES, him!"

"What did he tell you?" Brichaela asked, suspicious, but laughing.

"That you and he," I mumbled "That Him and You, were, you know…"

"And you believed him?"

"Was there any reason not to believe him? He seemed decent enough."

"Decent, but jealous," Brichaela shook her head. "We are close, very close, as are most brothers and sisters! While we are not blood related, we've been together since his birth. (I am much older, you must remember). He told a nasty little lie to lead anyone to believe we were anything MORE."

"Then you are not engaged? Or courting?" I asked, feeling strangely relieved.

"No, and we never will, Brichaela replied stoutly. "He is just trying to protect me, I suppose. So when did you see him?"

"Just now," I said, gesturing.

"How could you?" asked Brichaela, confused. "He is in Osgilioth."

I froze. "Then how did YOU tell him about ME?"

"Oh, I guess he spilled that too," Brichaela sighed. "I snuck out of Minas Tirith yesterday, and went and saw him, then I came back."

My mind tried to make sense of it all, but couldn't. "But Osgilioth was attacked!"

"When?" Brichaela went pale.

"Well, it must have been after you left, because Stowick…"

Brichaela's hand shot forth and grasped my own. "Nathan, you mean…?"

"He's alive," I told her, "But wounded. The company of men just arrived FROM Osgilioth."

"My poor boy," Brichaela's eyes brimmed with tears. "The little lying…weasel! He went and got himself hurt! I told him sneaking into the army was not a good idea!"

"I'll take you to him," beginning to lead her by the hand back the way I had come. So, I'd arrived, made a fool of myself, and then was properly restored to my place of servitude.

* * *

I AM VERY SORRY that this chapter is so short, but I am using my sisters COLLEGE laptop, so my time is quite limited! So send on your thanks to my sister for her kindness and letting me use the laptop. Like I've said before, she is not a fan of…well, fan fiction. So if she receives some appreciation from my reviewers, she may let me use the equipment again for purposes. Many thanks! 

IMPORTANT NOTICE

I will not be making a trailer for these stories like I so often promised. It is a long and bitter story… The Real Nate and I are no longer on speaking terms, and I've cried for hours about it…anyways. No more stories of gloom. But Anyways, as he is the star of this story, there will be no movie trailer. He still supports all of this, though, and I will continue writing, of course. No worries about the story, but the trailer is in the trash. Just to let you know.


	11. Cry Me A River

**Hey guys,**

**Thanks for waiting. Here's your next chapter. Love to all! WARNING: lots of crying in this chapter.**

**--Pip**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

**Cry Me A River**

"Stowick?" Brichaela dropped to her knees at the young kids side, grasping his hand. "Stowick, dearest, do wake up. It's me."

I stood uncomfortably against the wall, having rushed inside with her and hadn't really thought about privacy. Now it was beginning to look like a good idea.

The Houses of the Healing had a cramped, but cozy feeling about it. The stone walls weren't lofty and cold as the Great Hall was. Tapestries hung on the walls, and shiny white linens covered the feather beds and graced the windows as soft curtains. Women in scarves bustled about, rushing medicine and other oddments to people in need. A window on the right wall looked out into the tiny garden.

Stowick was regaining consciousness, blinking and trying to focus on the pretty face before him.

"Stowick, you old fool," Brichaela scolded, holding his hand to her cheek. "Don't ever, ever do this to me again."

Stowick reached with his right arm and put his hand to her face, wincing as he shifted. Brichaela took his reaching hand and kissed it, crying softly.

"Hmmwhat's wrong…" murmured Stowick.

"I'm just happy you are safe," Brichaela smiled. "And incredibly angry with you for leading on dear Nathan. He's a foreigner, you know, and not entirely deserving of what you had to say."

Oh. _So now I am a foreigner. Go figure. VIVA LA MEXICO!_

"I'm sorry," moaned Stowick. "I didn't know his…intentions. Just…trying…to be a good…brother."

"You are NOT a good brother," said Brichaela, laughing. "You are an amazing brother."

I finally shook myself out of audience mode and turned to leave the room.

"Nathan," Brichaela said, rather urgently. "Please stay with me?"

"Just getting a look outside," I muttered. "Very pretty place, very pretty…"

Stowick's eyes glimmered in…jealously, most likely.

Just then, a Healer woman whisked in, carrying fresh bandages. "We cain't 'ave no visitors fer now," she quipped, setting her things on the end of the bed and planting her hands on her hips. "I needs you young folk out so we cain let the sick boy git better, ya hear me now?"

Brichaela brushed Stowick's sweaty hair away from his pale face, kissed his cheek, and squeezed his hand before letting it fall back weakly to the blanket. "I will return very, very soon," she whispered, standing in the old Healer's way. Brichaela seemed very hesitant to leave, and poor Stowick could not take his eyes from her face.

"Come on," I urged, touching her arm lightly. "I'll bring you back in an hour, okay?"

Brichaela nodded and followed me dutifully out of the room.

"Thank-you," she said quietly, walking unsteadily.

I offered her my arm and walked her out of the House and into a quiet alley heading back towards the main square.

"Please, can we stop here?" Brichaela said hoarsely.

"Absolutely," I replied, patting her hand that clutched my jacket. She lowered herself onto a stone bench, and I quickly followed.

"Are you alright?" I asked after a moment of silence.

"Yes," she said, "Just catching my breath. I would also like my eyes to loose the tear marks before we are seen by overbearing courtiers. It is awful seeing Stowick so helpless, Nathan…I cannot stand watching him suffer and can do nothing about it. He is such an amazing young boy…I love him so much…" she began to choke up again.

"I wish I had a hanky to offer you," I said glumly, looking at the darkening sky. It was only going to get worse before Frodo succeeded in destroying the ring and half of Minas Tirith was dead and in flames.

Brichaela only nodded.

"Here," I said, bringing my jacket sleeve over my hand like a glove and wiping her tear-streaked cheeks with my thumb. "That looks better."

"That was romantic," Brichaela whispered, blushing.

"Was it?" I dropped my hand as quickly as it had gone to wipe her face. It was kind of like running into an electric fence. "Sorry."

"That is alright. It was nothing improper." Brichaela stood again. "Shall we continue?"

"Yes," I said, offering her my arm again, but a little slower. This time I did not say anything but led her out into the streets and up the incline.

"I am sorry, I am afraid I have embarrassed you," Brichaela said, almost looking as if she were pouting.

"Kind of, but, I'm fine, um…"

"Do you find me repulsive?" asked Brichaela suddenly.

"Quite the opposite!" I admitted.

"Oh, good," Brichaela said, relieved. "Wait, you mean you feel an…attraction?"

I raised my eyebrows. I might as well be honest. We're both adults here. We can handle a bit of honesty, right?

"Yup," I said casually.

"I knew it," Brichaela said to herself. She shook herself and smiled at me. "I do wish that the war was over and we had years and years to become friends and get to know one another. But I'm afraid the very end of the world is near."

"Well, like I told you earlier," I said, "We can do all that when its over, I guess."

"What if we die?" Brichaela said bluntly.

"We shouldn't rush a relationship just because we don't have any knowledge of our future, that would be a terrible mistake," I argued.

"But Nathan, I sense we still wouldn't have years and years, even if we did survive." Brichaela said pointedly.

"And what makes you think that?"

"After your work is done here, surely you'd go back to your world," she stated.

"I don't know if I want to!" I said, and immediately regretted it. "Actually, that's a lie. If I had to choose, I don't think I could. This place has always been important to me, but I have a sister, parents, my friends, and a niece back where I came from. I wouldn't want to leave them."

Brichaela was crying again. _Cawkward! _

"Uh," I muttered.

"Sorry!" she said for the umpteenth time.

"Stowick?" I asked, confused about the sudden onslaught of crying. It was getting annoying, but I didn't want to tell her. That'd be awful.

"No…I mean yes."

I didn't reply, and Brichaela seemed to understand. After a moments silence, the sniffling had gone down considerably, and we were approaching the doorway of her inn.

"You have my thanks for letting me wail like a wraith all over you," she said lightly, letting go of my arm and stopping at the doorstep. "I'm not normally like this."

"Thank God," I cried without thinking. Thank goodness it didn't offend her—in fact—she smiled and giggled a little.

"I owe you," she smiled. "If there is anything I can ever do for you, Nathanial, never hesitate to make it known unto me. I would do anything I could."

"You are too kind, M'lady," I bowed with a flourish. "Until next we meet."

Brichaela raised one eyebrow at me. "Now who is speaking like a Gondorian?"

"Certainly not me!" I exclaimed. "I am an _Oregonian_!" I whirled on heel and went back down the hill, walked the equivalent of four blocks, and was soon in my own temporary home.

---

The room was dark gray in the lack of morning light, but the way the sleepiness seemed to drift over Minas Tirith, I knew it couldn't be more than an hour till dawn. Sounds of early risers were moving about the city streets, and already, Gandalf's bed was empty. In fact, I don't think he ever showed up. He was probably up all night trying to solve problems and chalk on a black boar. Or walk to Denny's at four. I was really sleepy when I talked to him and didn't quite understand…what rhymes with chalk on a black boar and walk to denny's at four?

Oh! I know! He's going to talk to Denethor! Man, I'm good. And I remembered why, too. Gandalf was probably mad because Denethor sent Faramir back to Osgilioth last night without enough men. And we hadn't heard from them yet.

"You awake?" whispered Pippin.

"Yeah," I mumbled, turning over.

Pip sat huddled on the window seat, overlooking smoke rising from the east. "Dawn's coming," he mumbled in return.

"I figured," I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. "Betty, gimme pancakes."

"Pardon?" asked Pippin.

"Never mind," I yawned. "How are you?"

"I miss Merry," Pippin told me wearily. "And it's my fault so I ought not to complain about it, but I can't help it! We've been together since the cradle, you know. Some called us twins that were separated at birth."

My mind automatically went to some of the sick fan fiction I read about Merry and Pippin being um…in love. I can't believe those things even exist. Tolkien was pretty clear that they were best friends.

"Yeah," was all I could say. "You guys were always close."

"I remember when he told me about his first crush," Pippin sighed. I doubt he really knew what crush meant—or maybe he'd heard me say it. "And I told him that I had a crush on his sister. He beat me black and blue."

"He what?" I exclaimed.

"Oh yes, best friends!" Pippin grinned. "Only best friends could beat each other up for something like that and still love each other!"

"How did his sister feel?" I asked incredulously.

"She was the one who asked him to beat me up," Pippin said bashfully. "I sneaked in a kiss on the cheek at the Midsummer's Party."

"You evil person," I laughed. "Small wonder Merry used his fists."

"I wished he'd used them when I was busy thinking about the Palantir, maybe it would have knocked some sense into me."

I fell silent. So he's still brooding about THAT, is he? I thought he was just lonely.

"Did you ask for pancakes?" Pippin asked suddenly.

"Yes."

"I know where to find some."

"Pippin, lead me forth to the Land of the Pancakes, and I shall be indebted to you for life. Well, okay, not really, but close enough. I'll be incredibly grateful."

"Well, follow me, then," Pippin bounced off the window seat and threw open the door. "Let's get some breakfast."

We rushed out into the cold street, but were surprised to find a growing crowed. "What are they doing up this early?" I asked.

Pippin rushed forward and disappeared in the throng of the murmuring people.

"Pippin!" I shouted exasperatingly.

Pippin came back and appeared at my side again. "It's Faramir!"

"Oh," I'd forgotten.

"He's horribly wounded, I must go see him," Pippin looked at me apologetically. "Would you please forgive me? I have duties, and…"

"Breakfast isn't that important anymore," I told him. "Go ahead. I'll see you later."

I watched sullenly as Pippin scampered away. I felt my stomach growl with nausea as the crowed slowly drifted away from me. They followed a procession of guards that were carrying a stretcher up the hill, with a small, bloodied form laying in it.

* * *

**That's all for now, folks! Thanks for your patience! REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!**


	12. Of Discussions and Ohio

**Hey, sorry for the wait, you guys. School started, and I am in PUBLIC school for the first time. (I've been in school before but it was a private school). I have to admit, I love it. I'm trying out for part in Arsenic & Old Lace (an amaaaaazing play!) I'm active in choir (though unfortunately I've been taken out of the tenor section and put with the altos.) I'm also participating in a college Shakespeare class…so many, many things! I love it! Anyways, that is why I have not written for while. College stuff, public school, making movies…it all takes so much time. **

**IMPORTANT NOTICE**

**I have a You Tube account, and I think you should all go see it ;-) **

**My username is MrsPippinBaggins. **

**All my videos are clean (G rated.) **

**You'll find, and I hope, enjoy: Two re-enactments of "The Village", a re-enactment of Zac Efron's "Bet On It" (which is hilarious) and a Pirates of the Caribbean spoof…starring me! (none of the other movies have me in it). **

**Oh, and a music video I made of Ally and AJ's "Into the Rush" starring my best friend and my older sister. **

**Anyways, what am I telling you all this for? I don't know. Onto the story! **

**Disclaimer. I own Nate, Brichaela, Stowick, Shrek… etc.

* * *

**

**Chapter 12, Of Discussions and Ohio**

Two days had passed.

Two darn days.

And there was no news of Faramir's condition. Oh sure, Gandalf got to see him, but we never saw Gandalf, so we never knew how he was.

And course, I could always make myself feel better by getting psychic all over, telling myself, "He doesn't die, I can tell the future, yadda yadda…"

I make myself sick sometimes. Just because I knew the outcome doesn't mean I should act heartless, right?

I tried to suffer alongside Brichaela and Pippin wondering of his condition, but it was hard to get myself there mentally. I just stopped talking. I worked quietly among the normal townspeople, preparing battlements and fixing rusty bolts on catapults. Brichaela and I also volunteered in the Houses of the Healing, helping out the healers when we could. I saw Stowick every once in a while, but Brichaela rarely strayed from his side. They never let us near Faramir… "Could be contagious," Janice, a Healer of the north side, explained in a motherly tone. "We don't want you young people getting the same thing he's got."

The Fourteenth of March drew near. It crawled by like the Thirteenth, and Twelth, and even the Eleventh.

But still, coldness coursed through my veins, and I felt like a deer poised having heard the cocking of an air rifle. One more sound, and I'd be leaping into action so quickly I'd do something stupid—like leave my innards behind. If that's possible.

I started feeling sick once in a while since I didn't have some medication… (being the old geezer that I am, and much different than the teenager that had left, my bod—and my job—required daily vitamins and bi-weekly ADHD medication. LAME!)

The night of the 14th drew upon us, sweeping against the hillsides with smoke in the air, and carrying the sounds of a busily quiet city.

"Why does this day bring a chill to the air?" I mused to myself, my speech sounding Middle-Earthian again. Man, I love that. "The feel of it…is…is like being on the edge of a knife. One false step, and we plunge into the abyss. Not a comforting thought, eh?" within a flash, I could lose the language. Dang.

"Are you trying to push despair onto me?" Brichaela muttered resolutely. "Because it will not work."

"So determined, are we?" I asked, smiling at her, yet still uneasy.

"So determined is too light a word," she gave me a half grin. "Try: _Illoth goverswain._ _Meh careth oon guinge." _

I blinked. "And that means…what?"

Brichaela pressed a finger to her lips. "My own secret."

"Are you flirting?"

"No." Brichaela shook her head and stubbornly turned her back on me, pulling her laundry basket of clean linens with her. She folded the linens as if wringing my neck. "Whatever it is you mean."

I chuckled. _She's sooooo cute._ Oh no, I went into mental falsetto. That's bad!

"Almost finished?" she asked a second later.

"Oh, I dunno, not quite…" I said, staring at all three washcloths I had left. She only had a few towels left…though we'd never admit it, the rare ten minutes of folding and talking had been the only time to spend together for almost all day. Neither of us really wanted to finish…

"Nate?" Brichaela drawled uncertainly.

"Yeeeeees?" I drawled in return.

"There's something I ought," she faltered. "Or perhaps maybe we could, I mean—I should—it's my solemn duty to, to, well—you know—not be deceiving in anyway, which means I should—or ought—to tell, relate the news, even, and…"

"No offense, but are you actually going to say anything?"

"None taken. I'm unsure of how to say it."

_I love you, Nate! _I thought to myself. _I've loved you since the moment I met you! Will you stay in Middle Earth with me and be my husband????_

"Maybe I can help?" I repeated, the words sound a leeeetle more reasonable than what was in my head.

"Not at all," Brichaela quipped.

Silence.

"Hey…Brick? Can I call you Brick?" I asked.

"If you wish," Brichaela said stiffly.

"Bree?" I offered.

She softened. "I like that. I like it better than Chaela. My brothers call me Chaela." When she said the word 'brothers', something in her eyes changed.

"I see," I said mysteriously. "And what ABOUT those brothers of yours?"

She looked at me, startled. "You guess well."

"I made no guess! I don't even know what I'm talking about!"

"Aha."

"But something changed when you said that word, so it gave me a clue. Your news for me has something to do with brothers, right?"

"I suppose so, Nathanial."

Darn, she went back to my formal name.

"In fact," she continued, "It has more to do with you than it ever has with Them."

"Oh my gosh," I exclaimed, "It's not like the story of Turin and Neinorwhatsherface? Like in the Children of Hurin? I'm not your brother, am I? Are you cursed by a dragon to fall in love with your brother?"

"That is utterly disgusting," Brichaela snapped.

"It's in your own history, you ought to know it really happened," I laughed.

"Actually, I ought NOT!" Brichaela said shrilly, sounding hysteric. "I don't know my own history! It's not mine! It never was!"

"Adoption?" I asked quietly, wondering what the crap was wrong with this girl.

"Yes," Brichaela affirmed, sounding a little relieved. "I was adopted. Like Aragorn to the Lord Elrond, I was—shall we say—taken in."

"Yeah," I said dubiously, thinking hard. "Wait a second, how did you know about…?"

"Nathan, oh my freaking gosh!" Brichaela stood up, shouting at me. Her voice sounded like Kirsten Dunst. "Don't you get what I'm trying to blabber into your thick, adorable head?"

I blinked…twice. "Oh my."

"It's true, you…you…scruffy looking…half-witted…nerf herder!"

She…she was quoting Star Wars.

"Oh my," I repeated.

"Nate, dear," Brichaela lasped back into her normal brit accent with an elvish flair. "I am from Toledo, Ohio."

* * *

**Well, what'dya think? Congrats to those who suspected Bree's iffyness. Love to all…I am hungry…so bye for now…**


	13. Concerning Girls and Battle

**Hey you guys, **

**you didn't think I've forgotten you, did ya? I would never forget you!!**

**I've been so hurrendously busy. I got a part in the Shakespeare play (Richard III) where I will play a little boy who is murdered by his uncle. The boy is short, sarcastic, argumenitive, and likes bantering back and forth. Sounds like a good part for me, no? Sounds a bit familiar, eh. **

**I also had many, many concerts and feild trip things with my choir. Plus Christmas has fallen on my head and broken it. Well, not really. **

**Anyways, enough excuses for me. Thanks for all your patience! Send my regards to your mother! Er, well, maybe not. If you want. **

**Happy Belated New Year! **

**Pip**

**PS: I learned the song "Hoist the Colours" from Pirates of the Caribbean 3. It's soooo freakin cool. (like...how to sing it, haha, not like on an instrument or anything. that's beyond my reach.)**

**PPS: Nate comes from southern Oregon.

* * *

Disclaimer: Violets aren't red, sad roses are blue, this is inspired by Tolkien, and it's written for you!**

Disclaimer 2: I only own Nate, Bree, Stowick, Shrek (the horse), and a box of pancake mix. Actually, I don't even own the pancake mix.

**

* * *

Chapter 13**

**Concerning Girls and Battle**

"Why?" I asked in disbelief.

"Why what?" Brichaela asked, putting her hands on her hips.

"Why are you..." I tried.

"You see I thought..." I began.

"You maybe you ought," I added.

"What is the..." I interupted.

"Could you possibly," I concluded. I threw my hands in the air, exasperated. Shock brings a certain level of English-speaking inability.

"Nathan," Brichaela put a hand on either side of my face. "Spit it out."

"Pretty," was all I could manage.

"Something other than that?"

"Please tell me everything," I said, gulping nervously. "If you don't mind!"

"Alright," she sat next to me again. "It's a long story."

"You're a Mary Sue!!!!!" I gasped. "Oh my! It's actually happened! Do you like pink?"

"I despise pink," she said loftily. "And I didn't fall in love with anyone here, so..."

"Oh." I said, feeling awkward. "I kind of thought you..."

"My, aren't you a blunt fellow," she laughed. "You aren't native here, either. So that doesn't make me a Mary Sue. That makes me a Tenth-Walker-Girlfriend, doesn't it?"

"I guess," I muttered. "Wait, you want to be my GIRLFRIEND?"

"Hmm, let's save this discussion for another time," Bree said maturedly. "War is on the horizon, we've no time for...romance."

"Well hey!" I changed tactics. "This means I can't be a Mary Sam, though, huh? Since YOU are not native, either?"

"You could never be a Mary Sam, it's Gary or Larry Stu!" she argued.

"Oh my frickin word! I know!" I snapped. "Nobody seems to like the term. You know, back in the day when I had Lindy write my story and post it on everybody mentioned I got it wrong. I made it up, I made it up, dangit!"

"Let's not lose our tempers," Bree said sweetly. "I understand. If you want me to call you a Mary Sam, I'll call you a Mary Sam."

"You don't have to call me anything!" I sighed. "Forget it. We're going in circles."

"I warrant there's a nasty bog nearby, can you smell it?" quipped Bree, finishing the quote from "The Two Towers".

"Isn't THAT ironic," I said dryly. "But that means you know everything, too, right? That means you aren't really worried about Faramir, or Minas Tirith, or anything, are you?"

"Of course I'm worried," Bree replied. "I've lived here for years now. Don't you think I have any friends that will possibly die in battle? Stowick's story was never written down. I don't know what happens to my cousins..."

"Cousins?"

"Oh, Imrahil's cousins. But they're mine too. I'm one of the family."

"Well, alright," I replied. I settled back into my chair. "Story time, then. Do tell."

"Like I said, long story," she said, leaning back into her own chair. "Once upon a time..."

"I like it already."

"Don't interupt, or I'll never get through it."

"I'm sorry," I stated humbly.

"To continue," Bree waved a hand dismissively. "I lived in Ohio with my grandparents. I lived there until the age of twenty...during which I finished highschool and went into a Flight Academy to learn how to fly my grandparents private plane--they were pretty wealthy."

"May I ask a question?" I raised my hand.

"Yes, you may."

"How long have you been in Middle Earth?"

"Seven years."

"You are TWENTY-SEVEN..." I said stiffly, feeling a little funny. It was weird...she seems...too old for me, I guess?

"I know, I'm old, right?" Bree sighed. "But let's look at this logically. If I ever get back, I'll be back at age twenty!"

"That works, but you don't WANT to go back, do you?"

"No, I don't." There was a short silence. Not awkward, just quiet.

"So, anyways," I said, "How'd you get here?"

"I crashed the plane," Bree said, looking a little embarrassed. "And I woke up in a shipwreck on the shore of the Belfalas, where Imrahil and guards were arranging a defense for Gondor. They rescued me, tended to my injuries, and as I had no place to go--they let me stay with them. I came back to Dol Amroth with them and lived in the palace. After being there for three years, and had become one of the family, they made me an honorary princess."

"Man, any fan fiction author would be pleased to get that little sucker on paper," I whistled.

"Except it's been done," Bree pouted.

"Not with Imrahil in Dol Amroth. It's always Legolas or something."

"True," Bree smiled. "I became Princess Brichaela of Dol Amroth. I used to be Brittany Mikaela Jones of Toledo, Ohio."

"Brittany," I mused, testing the new name. "I like it. It fits you. May I still call you Bree, though?"

"That's what my grandpa called me," she replied.

"Oh..."

"Let me put it this way," Bree leaned forward. "In conclusion, this is my real home now, I have a family, a brother, best friends, a horse, and home, a country to help govern...and perhaps a future boyfriend!"

I blushed.

"Therefore!" Bree settled back. "I don't want to leave. I don't mind being older than you, if that's a problem. But when we go back to Earth..."

"If," I interjected.

"No," Bree said softly, "We WILL go back. I've been dreading the day for seven years, but I know its coming. I don't want to leave my home, but I know I'll have to."

"How DO you know? You could stay here forever!" I paused. "Just as long as an orc does not stab you in..." I pressed a hand to the scar on my stomach. "In the gut!"

"Galadriel told me," Bree said simply. "I went to Lothlorien soon after my arrival here. That's what EVERY girl-falls-into-Middle-Earth is SUPPOSED to do. We go, we get answers. Galadriel said I wouldn't BE here forever...nuff said."

"'Nuff said' sounds very odd when you say it!" I laughed.

"I haven't said it in years! You are rubbing off on me," Bree accused. "I can't...wait, what is that?"

I froze. The sound of whistling, as if a rocket was being shot through the sky high above our heads, was growing louder by the second.

"Canonfire," I whispered, just as a huge explosion erupted and we were knocked about in the shaking impact. "GET DOWN!" my instincts kicked in, and I leapt over to Bree and pushed her the rest of the way to the ground. Another explosion rocketed the ground, something struck me in the back.

"Ow!" I snapped irratably, staggering to my feet and carting Bree up with me. We rushed for the door to get out in the open balconies where we could see the danger coming.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she was yelling over the noise of rock crumbling beneath rock.

"Sorry for what??" I yelled back.

"The chunk of the ceiling," she cried, pressing a hand to my lower back.

"Hey!" I snapped again. "Take it easy! That's going to be sore later! I did that so you would continue to keep that perty face of yours!"

"Oh," she replied. "DUCK!"

I ducked, and another chunk of the ceiling hit me in the shoulder and fell the to floor. At least it missed my skull.

"Where do we go?" cried Bree, running for a flight of open stairs. A few towers blocked our view of the outer wall, fencing us away from the battle. The sounds of it, however, were slowly creeping into our senses.

"What should we do?" Bree repeated, pausing at the top of the stairs. It was only then I realized she was clinging my hand and I had stopped running.

"Pink bunnies," I replied.

"Pardon?"

"Sorry Bree. ADD." I began running down the stairs, pulling her behind me. "I suggest you get up to Denethor's little sanctuary, none of the weaponry will get that I." we paused under a protective archway. Large boulders and debri were flung over our heads and farther into the city. Panicked people were running by, people were screaming, and a deep rumble coursed through the ground.

"I think I'll go see if I can find Gandalf," I wished I had my sword with me. It was stupid to leave in in the inn. Well, it wasn't even my sword, anyways. I was borrowing it. Like it matters, anyways!

"I don't want to leave you," Bree said stoutly. "Call me a corny girl who sounds like someone from Titanic, but I don't want to."

"And I don't want to hear you complain," I said resolutely.

"Well, if THAT'S the way you speak to the Princess of Dol Amroth..."

"Right now, babe, I could care less if you were a tarantula."

"Where can I find you, provided you don't DIE?" Bree slammed her hands on her hips.

"I'll come find you. Perhaps at nightfall. I don't want you coming past the seventh level. It's too dangerous."

"Are you the kind of freak who thinks women shouldn't vote and stay in the home and cook?"

"Hardly. I just don't want another Eowyn on our hands."

"This conversation sounds familiar."

"This conversation needs to END," I took both of her hands in mine and kissed them. "Please go."

"Be safe, Nathaniel," Bree grew serious, and her original elvishflaired accent returned. "Namarie."

"Bye," I squeezed her hands and ran down the street, looking for the source of all the darn trouble. I turned back to look at her forlorn figure and found her eyes trained on me already. I threw up a hand and waved, and was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of sadness--and a crowd of soldiers running past me. I was stuffed in the sea of armor for a moment, and when they had passed, the space beneath the archway was empty.

I turned and followed the soldiers, knowing they'd lead me pretty close to what I was looking for. I found a flight of relatively undamaged stairs, dodging panicked folk here and there, and wincing every time I heard the sound of another building falling to the catapulted weapons.

Gandalf was running Shadowfax up and down the roads--I could hear him shouting directions before I could see him. I peered over the short wall to the street below the flight I was ascending, calling, "Gandalf! Gandalf!"

"Valar," cried Gandalf, sitting atop Shadowfax. veering him right and left. "Goodnight, Nathan, where are you?"

"I'm up here!"

He whirled the silver horse about, and looked up at me, sheilding his eyes.

"What can I do to help?" I called down.

"You can get yourself down here immediatly, there's need of some authority in the west wall! I cannot be everywhere at once!"

In a second, I decided that trotting down the stairs would take valuable time. With a deep breath, I launched myself over the wall and plummeted a good fifteen feet or so. I took it in a roll like a little beetle bug and was on my feet in a moment. Gandalf held out a wrinkling, white hand. I took it and he jerked me up onto Shadowfaxes' butt. Wrapping my arms around Gandalf's access cloak material, Gandalf clicked his tongue and Shadowfax was off like a bullet.

The wind rushed in my ears and nearly took out that strange throbbing, rumbling sound in the ground. Only then did I remember what it was--the thousands and thousands of orc minions less than a hundred feet away on the other side of the wall, walking, tramping, stomping, laughing, cursing, brandishing their spears and arrows and truly thinking this was Sauron's last crushing of mankind.

"This wall faces the direction in which Theoden would come, if that indeed is what will transpire if they heed our signal," Gandalf said, pulling to a halt beneath a thick defense wall. "I place these men in your charge. They already know of your authority. Get up there."

"We are still in the defensive, then?"

"Yes. No arrows spent, we must save it for when..." Gandalf knew it was only a matter of time before the walls were breached.

"Say no more, its in good hands," I saluted. "Now don't go and get yourself killed, old man. We like having you around here."

"Hobbit," muttered Gandalf, turning Shadowfax away.

"Hey! I resent that!" I called after him, but Shadowfax was already nearly out of sight.

I turned and went into the tower, went up the ladder, and came through the door that opened onto the rampart.

"Sir Nathan?" questioned a guard, with a loftier helmet than the others. "I'm Captain Tucket. What are your orders, sir?"

"Nothing at the moment," I mused, checking out the wall. It was sturdy and would hold...for now. "I'd like you to show me around."

"Very well, sir," said Captain Tucket. "We've got three archers posted in the opposing tower. They are following the goblin generals as we speak--one word from you and they are dead."

"Gandalf's strict orders were to stay on the defensive for now," I noted a rusty old contraption the size of a horse perched in the center of the walkway. "I'd call your men out of there before another boulder is catapulted into that tower. Anything tall has been the most dangerous."

"Very good, sir," Captain Tucket put his fingers in his mouth and whistled twice. Someone went to fetch the archers out of the tower.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the wooden peice of crap.

"An old catapult, only to dissuade the enemy."

"Well, load her up and get her ready to go. As soon we we get a signal to go on the offensive, I'd like that baby to spring something nasty onto the orcs."

"Yes, sir!" Tucket motioned another knight or two to see it down. "Oh, sir," he paused. "Shall I have someone bring you armor and a sword?"

"Armor I could use, my sword is in the inn, if any can be spared, someone doesn't have to run back to the inn..."

"No problem, for we have a set waiting for you just below. Gandalf's orders. But he did have us fetch something from the inn, not a sword, however..." Tucket pulled a bundle out of a nearby sack. My gun, my bullet cases, and my bullet proof vest were the treasures brought out.

"Oh, thank-you, Gandalf!" I cried, taking my things. I slipped of my leather jerkin and put the vest on, then the leather over it. I slipped the belt and holster around my waste and clicked it shut. I stashed the casings back into the sack for the moment.

"You look quite ready, Sir Nathan," commented Tucket with a wry smile.

"Ah, Captain," I smiled back. "I was born ready!" a black speck caught my attention. I turned and began examining a ladybug crawling along the wall. "Well, isn't that interesting."

"Sir?" Tucket looked concerned.

"It's a bug," I said, feeling rather delighted.

Jack Sparrow...

Quintuplets...

Big Mac.

"Sir?"

"Pardon?" I asked.

"You feeling well, sir?"

"Forgot my medication," I said, shaking the fog from my brain. "Nothing to be concerned about. Don't worry. I'm fine!" I turned my attention to the scene beyond the wall. Miles and miles stretched of black dots, swarming like maggots under a log. They cried in hideous voices, beat their chests, raised their swords above their heads, and cheered like happy demons. And just beyond them, a blink of a river, a single gray stone of Osgilioth, and a red light shone from Mordor.

You could almost hear in the wind and screams that Sauron was smiling.

* * *

**well, the next chapter will be mucho exciting in comparison, this was a bit of a filler chapter. Please review! You know I write faster when theres more reviews! It's not too hard. Do it for mua. ;-)**


	14. Brain Invasions and Extra Fuzziness

**Dear People of the Universe,**

**Ahmigash, your reviews were sooo tasty, I could just eat them right up. Thanks for taking the time to review! To be torturous for my Narnian reviewers, I am not updating the Peter story right away, I am being nice to you people instead and updating MiddleEarthiness. Gah, why do I torture them so? Well, why don't you folks explain it, you're the readers. HEHE!!! (okay, well, it wasn't THAT funny…) **

**Please, wipe your feet before entering. There was sooo much mud last time! **

Pip 

**PS: Wow, uh, just a future bit of friendly advice, never write to your reviewers off a Shari's sampler platter and strawberry lemonade.

* * *

**

**Disclaimer:**

**All I own is Nate and Bree**

**And a little horse named Shrek**

**And its not the Ogre from 1,2, and 3**

**Otherwise I'd get stabbed in the neck**

**(Or some other justly punishment from copyright infringment)

* * *

**

**Chapter 14,**

**Brain Invasions and Extra Fuzziness**

Gandalf gave me leave to see Brichaela just after sunset, as we both knew the final attack would not come until midnight roughly. (Don't ask how. It's just…normal…) 

I was walking along, minding me own business, when suddenly the world went black, and a slimy resonating voice penetrating my consciousness and caused a nasty headache.

"Nathaniel, Nathaniel, you never give up, do you? You always come back to us. I can't say I am the most excited, but it has added a few benefits to my plan that I never thought possible."

Oh my frickin gosh, it was happening again… 

"So old you seem, but not any wiser. You are still treading old paths. A brief flirtation, extra baggage for the wizard, needless affection for hobbits that will soon perish, and a stronghold in an antique city that will be destroyed. Why not learn from your mistakes, boy?"

"_Well, for one thing, you wrinkled old fart, it's not a brief flirtation. I'm becoming friends with a decent lady. I am not baggage for any wizard, I carry my own weight. Also, I love those hobbits, and no dratted stinky graybeard from the planet ugly is going to kill them if I have anything to say about it. Oh, and last but not least, I know the future—you warthog with warts and a fat nose—and I know Minas Tirith stands!"_

Silence.

"_So, for the record, you mind intruder Sir Weirdness, take your brain invasions somewhere else, you son of a…"_

"_Nathaniel!"_

"_Good job, you stone age piece of junk, you interrupted my insult. Now I still have a squeaky-clean record of no profanity, and young reviewers will not cry and leave, and people won't send me nasty messages like 'You call yourself a Jesus Freak and you cuss!' So, old man, thanks. I guess you're good for SOMETHING. Not much, though. Pequito." _

"_Nathaniel…always you fill your mouth with idle words. Words, words, words. They have no depth. May I have one slight conversation with you? One you may, in your own words, call 'remotely' decent?"_

"_You quoted Shakespeare's Hamlet. Are you proud, you Third of a Stooge?"_

"_Quite. Do you think I limit my workplaces to Isengard only? I know many things and have been many places, Nathaniel. You cannot escape me. I infiltrate peoples' minds. I can invade homes a whole universe away. Children disappear from their beds and it is my own pleasure to deprive parents since they have done something to displease me."_

"_You are lying, Saruman. You're only an Istari. Or is it an Itchy? Or perhaps an Isenheadache? Only God has the power to do that…well, and Hayden Christiansen! HAHAHA! Why aren't you laughing, dweeb? That was funny! It was a joke!"_

"_You speak nonsense, boy."_

"_No I don't. I caught you in your pathetic attempt to sound big and scary. If you could go to my world and kidnap kids, you'd know about Hayden Christiansen's new movie. So don't even try it, pardner. I see right through you. HEY LOOK! YOUR CHAIR!" _

"_Silence, you pesky human!"_

"_Is that the best you can come up with, Orc woman?" _

"_Nathaniel, I have an offer for you."_

"_I don't want to hear it."_

"_I can make her love you."_

"_Too late, you rotten asparagus. She likes me already, and I like her too. And I would never take you up on it—if she doesn't ever fall in love with me, I would never want her to be forced—because I care for her like that."_

"_We were not discussing Bree."_

"_You overrated SLUG! You can't call her Bree. That's for special people only."_

"_You are an unending cycle of peevish insults, you ADD-ridden-buffoon."_

"_Oh, gash, that's hoits me feelins' so bad, Mistah Noodle sir! NOT! Don't even try the insults. You suck at it so back that you don't even NEED a straw. You just get close enough and it all darts away." _

"_Lindy."_

"_What ABOUT Lindy?"_

"_I can make her love you."_

"_No, you can't. She has a husband and a daughter. Plus, I am fully over her. Just before all this, I was still debating my feelings…but only a little. I know now who I'm in love with. I'm pretty much in love with Middle Earth! Figuratively, that is. So eat that, you Boy Scout walnut pie." _

"_Nathaniel, you leave me with no other choice. First, you would not join me. Second, you would not fall into my trap. So now I give you the third choice."_

"_I always used to be a C student. Lay it on me, dinosaur."_

"_You have chosen death, Nathaniel. You know yet not how, or when, but I assure you a long, torturous death, but only because you have irked me so. I may have killed you quickly if not for your continuous misuse of the English language. So you have chosen your own fate, and I daresay before the end you will be on your knees begging for my mercy, and I won't give it to you."_

"_Ah, your sentiments get cuter every time, my little Wizard who causes Blizzards. You don't intimidate me. I suggest you stop trying?"_

"_Ah, for now, dear boy. But before I disappear entirely, I think I'll leave you with a little something…"_

"_A McFluffy, Dooku? Maybe? Oh my gosh, a Jedi Mind Trick. I am soooo scared."_

"_One last chance, fool."_

"_Never, you crappy piece of 90s software!"_

"_Well, you asked. HERE IT IS." _

The blackness faded away into a throbbing sensation. High above me was a vaulted, plain white ceiling.

I was lying on a shiny floor, looking into the concerned green eyes of the Princess. My head was pounding so hard it sounded like hammer strikes on the floor next to me. I blinked twice.

"Nathan," Bree said worriedly, wiping moisture from my forehead. "You said you were coming to visit me tonight, but I didn't expect you like this."

I raised my eyebrows.

"You came barging into this chamber rambling incoherent phrases about McDonalds, an Orc, Star Wars, and complaints of a very bad migraine," Bree explained, "Then you passed out on the floor and I've been trying to rouse you for the past five minutes."

I just looked at her, unable to speak. Not that I was overwrought with emotion or anything, but I couldn't… LITERALLY.

"Good God, Nathan, you're crying!" Bree said, wiping big tears dripping down my face.

I tried to say something, but it wouldn't come. I sat up very, very slowly and took deep breaths.

"Nathan," Bree choked, "Why aren't you talking? What is WRONG with you?"

I just shook my head, but every movement rocked waves of pain and spasms in my neck and mouth and behind my eyes. Suddenly my stomach lurched, and I forced out,

"Bucket!"

Bree reached over and grabbed the bucket I gestured to. She held it up to me and I threw up into it. Bree rubbed my back comfortingly and said a soothing, "S'okay, buddy…" over and over.

Finally, after two or three dry heaves, I took a shuddering breath and whispered, "Do you know how painful it is to argue with Saruman in your brain?"

"No," she said truthfully, "I don't." She pulled me into her arms and I lay like a stupid crumpled doll, half in her lap and the rest of me sprawled out on the floor of what appeared to me a makeshift bedchamber in a small hall.

"I have to get back," I muttered tiredly.

"Give yourself a few minutes," Bree said softly. "You need it." She began singing an elvish song lightly, occasionally brushing my auburn hair out of my eyes.

I would have been quite happy except that I had the most horrible migraine I'd ever experienced and a pre-battle was happening about seven levels down the mountain, where I was supposed to captain a tiny legion.

"I really need to go now," I said after her song had ended. Her voice was soft and fluffy sounding. Marshmallow fluff, um, clouds…you know…that kind of soft. Buffalo hides covered in whipped cream. Fake snow on a mall floor around the Santa display.

"Ah, yes, but the question is, can you move?" Bree asked.

I cringed. "Please…please whisper. It hurts."

"Um, yes, of course. If that makes you feel more at ease."

"Oh, it duz…"

Bree shifted out from beneath my head and scrambled to her feet, holding out her hands to help me up. I grasped her tiny hands and let her hoist me to my feet. I swayed for a second, but it wasn't as hard as I expected. I was standing, I did not feel dizzy, and the world seemed stable.

"I'm helping you back," Bree said resolutely.

"NO!" I cried, and instantly regretted it. My brain felt like it was imploding. Not exploding! IMPLODING!

"If you won't let me, I will let out the highest blood curdling scream I can conjure," Bree said wickedly. "I promise. I just want to make sure you get down there safely, and then I shall promptly return to my makeshift room. This I swear."

"M'kay," I said peevishly, reaching down and taking her hand. "Do you mind very much?"

"No, Nate," she said, blushing. "I do not. I am just helping you down a few dozen flights of stairs, correct?"

"I need to hurry," I mumbled, massaging my forehead with my other hand. "I can't concentrate. I need a horse. A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse…"

"Richard the third," Bree said fondly. "Good play."

"No, I really do," I said, my vision looking like a black and white film from the Mafia Chicago area in 1950 in a Hollywood classic with someone like Jimmy Stewart in the role. "Meneeds a horsey. Gots to go."

We were outside after passing through a big blocky door. The light of the torches in the small courtyard surround the White Tree felt like a searing burn entering my eyes and trickling past my eyelids and leaking into my skull.

"Painful," I said obviously, turning to look at Bree. "This is undoubtedly the worst migraine I've ever had."

"Ah, you're saved," Bree said matter of factually. "Here comes Gandalf."

"I've come for you, Nathaniel!" thundered Gandalf, galloping a very loud Shadowfax up the ramp. "It is time for you to return below!"

I sat right where I was on the cold stone. "I go on strike," I whispered, "If you yell at me ever again. Please. Have a little mercy on my ears."

"Nathaniel, you look quite pale. Are you ill?" Gandalf asked shortly.

"I haven't been able to get a word out of him," Bree explained, going to Gandalf's side and stroking Shadowfax's neck absently. "All I know is that he said he had a bad migraine and that it is painful to argue with Saruman in your brain."

Instantly Gandalf was all business. "Saruman has been trying his sticky tricks again," he muttered, leaping from his horse and running up to me. "Don't worry, Nathan. You will soon be released from him."

"Oh, he's gone," I said groggily. "He said he left. But he said he'd give me a headache…like…a souvenir."

"That is just another lie," Gandalf said. "Why else would your head feel achy unless his presence remained? Do you remember what Theoden was like during our first hours in Rohan's capital?"

"Um. He was possessed. Because of Grima's lies. Don't quiz or monologue, I'm begging you. Just help me out a little."

"If this incident went by unnoticed or ignored, in three weeks time, you may look almost as immobile and manipulated as Theoden did," Gandalf explained, putting a strong white hand on my head. "I will drive him out for you."

"Um, thanks?" I said questionably, blinking. Honestly, I didn't understand a word he said. In fact, at that moment, I wasn't even sure who he was. I forgot his name, and what he was doing, and I casually wondered if the hot girl standing next to me was his granddaughter. She was cute. She looked at me like she was my wife. Holy cow, DID I HAVE A WIFE???

"Begone, Saruman!" the old man said, suddenly smacking me in the head with the butt end of his palm. I fell over on the ground and thought to myself, _Why, hello. You know, we tread on you every day and never give you credit for supporting us and keeping us from falling down an endless pit to China. So, thank-you, ground! I thank you humbly for letting us walk all over you!_

"Nathaniel," a voice was saying. "Nathan!"

"Good morning, Starshine, the earth says HELLO…" I muttered, wondering if these bricks were made out of chocolate. _Nope. Rock. Solid rock._

"Nathan, honey."

"Yesh?" I said, sitting up. Same girl. Same old man. Same place. Aw, same ground. Hi ground.

"Oh! Your Brittany Michaela Smoogerwaffle!" I burst, the name popping into my head suddenly. "Me know you so well!"

"Not that well," the lady said. "You call me Bree. And it's not Smoogerwaffle."

"We must return, Nathaniel," said Gandalf. Or was it Bambi?

"Oh!" I cried, staggering to my feet with the help of Breeleelala. "Right! Battle! HOLY CRAP!" My life suddenly came back. "Whoah! I'm back! I get it! My headache is totally gone! Gandalf!" I threw my arms around him and gave him a hug. "You are a pal. Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!" I turned and wrapped my arms around Bree. "Oh my, me favorite, thanks for being such a good sport. I did not get any spewed cookies on you, did I? Wow! I feel like I just sprang out of a box into…I don't know. And I don't care. Let's go to battle, Gandalf? Shall we?"

"If you can settle down for a moment, we will." Gandalf leapt onto Shadowfax with ease. "Say goodbye to the Lady, and we will be off."

I turned and faced Bree again, getting a good look at her in the flickering torchlight. She was too pretty for a dork like me. But oh well.

"Bree," I said, putting a hand on either shoulder. "This was the weirdest night of my life. It isn't everyday that a wizard jumps into ones noggin. But you were like, so on top of things. Thanks so much for being there...for me.…okay. So." She was staring at me with wide green eyes, looking like forest pools. "That's the mushy part. I won't ever ask you to do that for me again! And I promise I'll always hold a bucket for you if you want to throw up!"

She giggled and snorted. "Oh, Nate, you do beat all," she stood on her tiptoes and gave me a hug. "Life will never be boring again with you around. Be safe. I'll pray for it. Come back to me alive, please. I like you too much. And I don't mind holding buckets for you. It was quite an experience."

I laughed. "Adios."

"Farewell," she said in reply, drawing her hand down my face slowly and stepping back.

I nodded and leapt up behind Gandalf. Gandalf whirled Shadowfax, and…wow…the whole traveling up and down Minas Tirith is getting really redundant. It's so annoying. So I will skip it. BEHOLD MY MIGHTY POWERS!

"Garsh," I murmured to myself as we galloped past sleepy houses and began descending into firelit levels full of panic, screams, and despair. "That was awfully romantic. Saruman ought to stop in again."

"That is nothing to ever joke about, Nathaniel! You could have died!" Gandalf said sharply. "And you are too loyal a friend and too handy a soldier to leave us again! Do you hear?"

"Yes SIR!" I said stoutly.

Oh, to be a dude tenth walker in Middle Earth. Man. I really no longer envy a Mary Sue. I got friends, I got a little drama to make things interesting, and a love interest. What more could we want?

"I want water," I said.

"I have a waterskin waiting at your station for you," Gandalf said grumpily. "And await my signal. The orcs have been preparing their ladders and attack towers all evening. Soon there will be a lot of fighting. There…" his voice grew husky.

"Aw, Gandalf," I said sappily. "You're worried one of us will die."

"The thought has crossed my mind, young one."

"To die would be an awfully big adventure," I quoted Peter Pan unashamedly. "And if one of us pass on, let us not forget our friendship. It has been a pleasure working with you, fighting with you, traveling with you, and chilling with you." I laughed. "But lets stay positive, and NOT think about death."

"Although," Gandalf said, coming to a halt at the base of my special wall and letting me off, "If indeed death does come between us, remember than I have loved you as a son."

"Oh, I didn't know that," I reached out and shook his cold hand. "I do respect you as a son to a father…" I smiled at the old, wise man. "Good luck."

"May your sword be sharp tonight!" Gandalf spurred Shadowfax and disappeared down the road into the darkness.

* * *

**Well, now that that's finished, do leave me a review. See how quickly I updated since I got so many good reviews! That's me! I totally rely on good reviews, otherwise, I have no heart to write more for fear that nobody likes what their reading.

* * *

**

**SHOUT-OUTS**

**Except these are special, because they are written by Nate, not Pippin

* * *

**

**Emerald Tiara: **Yeah, Bree knows I have my gun—I was showing off when I first met her and showed it to her. Except she pretended not to know what it was then. As for my age, gah, I keep trying to keep it a secret. I feel so old!! I'm about twenty-six—ABOUT—give or take a few years. I'll admit it. It's embarrassing. James teases me about an early mid-life crises, you know? Oh, and I'm from the Washington Vancouver area…recently moved to Oregon for their FBI department. Just a hop and a skip over the bridge.

**TomatoSauce: **Oh, right! CAPTAIN! Gaw, he's worked so hard at that title, and I go and refer to him as Jack. I'm not givin' 'em 'is proper rites and polite names, eh? I'll do better next time. I promise. :-)

**Jousting Elf with Sabre: **My meds are in a galaxy far, far away. I LOVE YOUR PENNAME! That's so cool. Pip's name is sooo lame. She sounds like someone who writes slash about Pippin and Frodo or something. I mean, seriously…

**Phelpstwinsandelftwins: **Speaking of pennames, PLEASE, dear, explain yours! It's meaning, which is something I can't quite get my brain on, is driving me quite mad.

**Za Webmaster Authoress: **Great minds think alike! **wink wink**. Um, your reference to the Insane Festivel is like, totally amazing. May I snag it and stick it in Pip's favorite quotes section? I already asked her and she said she wouldn't mind…

**Laer: **Two words. THANK…YOU! You rock my Middle Earth socks off.

**Jedi-X-Men-Serena-Kenobi: **OH! You're like, the most amazing author that Pippin has told me about. You write about Elena! Gosh, she is sooo hot. Wait, is it okay that I think that? Is it okay to say that a fan fiction character is hot? One person has called me hot on here, and I kinda liked it, soooo…

**LadyLea: **Why, hello! I don't recall seeing your name on here before. Are you new? If not, please forgive me, I've never done review replies before, that's been Pippin's domain, as is she IS the writer jotting down my…biography. Or is it autobiography? Either way, sorry if you've reviewed before and I forgot. If not, WELCOME! Please stay awhile! Put up your feet and take off your jacket. Would you like some tea?

**Friarjerome: **Buddy! Where've you been? Have you updated lately? I love your stories. I find myself quite drawn to them because they are the only other stories of Middle Earth fun with guys who fall in as tenth walkers! Er, Eleventh walkers? Do you like Legolas romance OC stories? I despise them so much…even Pippin is thinking of writing one. Don't you think that's weird? She is such an anti-Legolas-luver. Well, I'm getting off track as usual. Thanks for reviewing.

**ArodielElfofRohan: **Hey you! You're an old favorite reviewer of mine. You just seem to genuinally like me. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, like…rootbeer sitting in the sun…but in a nice way. (Um, analogy help, here…) Um, this makes two of us. I really don't want to die in battle. I can't imagine getting through it without a few injuries…but…here's to hoping, eh? (clinks a cup of rootbeer).


	15. Mary Sam Strikes

**Dear Reviewers. **

**I apologize, sincerely, for my insanely long absence. While some of my stories have flourished and even been completed during this time, I have no excuse for not working on this one—except one—which I will tell you in two words.**

**WRITERS BLOCK!**

**I think I've gotten over it, and I've been missing Nate like crazy. I am ready to compose paragraphs about his antics. **

**Thank-you for your unending patience. **

**--Pippin **

**THE BIG WARNING OF DOOM.**

**Rated T for uber violence. Yes, There Will Be Blood. (never saw this movie)…And crying, and a DEFINITE sneeze attack. I shall also warn you of beheading, decapitation, and large quantities of fighting. And we aren't talking Karate Kid, either. **

**Author's Extra Note:**

**Thank you so much for the GREAT reviews. Since its Christmas break, I will hopefully update more! Merry Christmas!**

**Chapter 15, Mary Sam Strikes**

At first, I stood poised and ready for action, tensing every muscle I had and gripping the hilt of my sword until the knuckles were white. And, after a few minutes of an agonizing wait and realizing nothing was happening, I relaxed. I had to remember to breathe—breathing was the key. It kept me from spontaneous combustion.

Every few seconds a boulder went flying over our heads, embedding themselves into the buildings and towers behind us.

And so the night passed, in a smooth blending of events, so tiresome and repetitive I began to wonder if we were caught in some kind of time loop—never ending—doomed to watch Minas Tirith fall under siege day in and day out.

When morning drew late and the afternoon was rolling in, the attacks seemed to dwindle. I won't cover what went on during the day in great detail, for we did nothing but wait, eat a very meager snack or two, and then find time to go relieve ourselves. I will tell you—it was one of the most boring, yet intense days of my life!

After there was a very obvious lull in catapulting, the men began to whisper amongst themselves.

"They know the city is too strong, only its decorum and tall apartments crumble," said one soldier to another, "Our citadel is unreachable and the catapults aim to high for the walls. They are rethinking. Soon they will let in the ground troops."

I figured they were right. They seemed to know these things better than I.

Finally, one of the siege towers began rolling slowly towards us. As if the one closest to us were its leader, all the other siege towers followed suite.

"Oh, God, here it comes!" I said, feeling nervous and shaky all over. Wasn't it just minutes ago when the worst problem was a troublesome wizard, saying goodbye the woman who made me forget my own name, and having headaches? Or was it days and days?

I pulled out my revolver and cocked it. With the sword in my left and the gun in my right, I felt surprisingly unprotected. People around here used shields and arrows and stuff. I seemed outdated even though I was the one ahead of their time.

"FIRE!" said a voice, and I hesitated as all the Gondorian's began firing arrows. I wanted to save bullets and I had no bow and arrow.

"NO!" cried Gandalf's voice from down the battlement wall. "Not to the towers! The trolls! Bring down the trolls! Aim for the trolls! Bring them down!"

"Yes!" I cried. Now THIS was something I could do, bar none. I raised my right hand, squinted down the barrel until its tip seemed to rest against the forehead of the ginormous green troll, and gently squeezed the trigger.

With a ear-splitting pop, a millisecond wait, and a few soldiers cowering in surprise from the sound, one of the trolls convulsed in a mass of cement-like flesh. It bellowed in surprise, tipped backwards, and crashed into a bunch of confused orcs.

The soldiers jumped to their feet again, jawing and cheering. A few came and slapped me heartily on the back in congratulations.

This infuriated the orcs. They thought we had canons or something, and began doubling the speed with the siege towers. More trolls began to fall, and the surviving ones were beaten harder to quicken their speed. The first tower groaned to a halt against the side of the wall, and its hatch fell open to create a bridge. In a crash of smoke and wood, the orcs came pouring out like ants from an anthill.

"EN EL LLAMO DE DIOS!" I screeched, running into their midst, swinging my sword this way and that, feeling so out of practice but slightly more confident than my gawky teenage self. Suddenly my sword was knocked from my hand, and a smelly orc jumped into me with a knife slashing across my neck.

"AGH!" I cried, firing my gun into the chest of the orc. The orc squealed like an angry boar, fell forward, and knocked me to the ground. It struggled to stab me while it held me down—it, apparently, had a strong resilience to pain—so I shot it for a second try. This time, black blood began to drip from an open hole in its neck. I threw my fist up against its chin, aggravating the wound and keeping its eyes on something other than me. It thrust its open, rancid mouth towards my hand and bit down, hard. I jerked my hand away, letting out a few choice profanities (I'm sorry kids, heat of the moment. I didn't mean it, I promise I'll wash my mouth out later. That's what I get for working on the police force) And then I punched the orc in the yellow slitted eye. The orc finally appeared to give up, or at last, died.

"Come on, sir!" a young, strong arm hoisted me out from beneath the heavy body.

"Thanks," I squeezed the shoulder of my rescuer. "GET DOWN!" I screamed, shoving him over as an orc swung his blade to cleave him in two. I ducked down, ran forward, and collided with the attacker. He crumpled to the ground in a heap, grabbing at his now injured knee. I scrambled to my feet and began kicking him mercilessly in the ribs, while scouting the ground for my sword. I found one—whether it was mine or not—I scooped it up and brought it on the injured knee of the orc. The blade sliced jaggedly above where the knee guard ended, and then left nothing but a stump. The orc screamed, and I brought the sword around to plunge through its' chest. In a second, it was over.

I felt sick with myself for the brutality of it, but this was war. We're soldiers. We're kind of supposed to do this. It didn't make me any happier with the violence though. I tucked away the things that bothered me to think about later.

I swung blindly into the stomach of another beastie. When I saw a lot more carnage than necessary, I turned away from him and gagged, trying not to throw up. My neck seemed to twinge, and I remembered the knife swipe against my sweating skin. I hoped it didn't get an artery.

I moved into a second onslaught of orcs, having put my gun back in the holster, using both hands to keep a firm grip around the hilt. Something heavy landed on my shoulder and rolled off before me, and I tripped over the orc head with sound of disgust.

"TO THE GATE!" came Gandalf's voice, his crying magnified as if by a magical microphone. Every ear, orc and soldier alike, perked up and many were distracted. There was a definite pause before me, and I asked, "Can anyone tell me why Sauron insists drinking his coffee black?" when two orcs looked towards me in surprise, I swept their heads from their shoulders in one swipe. A black blood fountain sprayed all nearby.

This gave me the chance to leap over the wall and crash to the stairs, then fell down the rest of the way, tripping over every second stair until falling on my hands and knees at the bottom.

"TO THE GATE!" called Gandalf again. "GUARD THE GATE!"

"The gate?" I repeated blearily, trying to find the moment in the movies—or books—or something. It was like forgetting to put in the bookmark and opening it a week later.

"Back to the Gate, hurry!" shouted Gandalf encouragingly. I could see a flash of white around the bend, so I followed.

The ground shuddered in a repeat of booms, and it wasn't until Gandalf mentioned the gate, it clicked back. There wasn't thunder, or explosions, but chanting of thousands.

"_GROND! GROND! GROND!"_

Riiiiiiiight. Grond was "Mr. Wolf Head Made of Wood Attached to Batter Ram Which Succeeds".

"Okay!" I said, tromping along with several other troops, stopping every so often to decapitate something. "To the Gate and Grond!"

We arrived at the gate, but surprisingly, many orcs did not follow us. Most stayed at the wall while many soldiers stayed to defend. Why they all wanted to hang back there, I guess I'll never know.

With a crash, the gate shuddered from the impact of Grond's stubborn head. There was a pause, and a second crash. Many of the men shivered along with the wood and iron.

"Steady, steady!" Gandalf said.

There was a third crash, and this time; the top of the gate broke into a gaping hole. We all caught a glimpse of teeth and eyes made of iron and fire.

"You are soldiers of Gondor!" cried Gandalf, brandishing his staff. "No matter what comes through that gate, you will stand your ground!"

In a thunderous heap of wood, iron, and dust, the gate splintered and fell to the ground. From behind it came—not orcs—but huge trolls dressed in spiked armor!

"CRAP!" I exclaimed, pulling out my revolver again.

Even Gandalf looked surprised. "VOLLEY!" he cursed. "Fire!"

Many archers went to take down the trolls, but the trolls just swatted away the arrows like flies. They began bringing their clubs and maces down on top of the soldiers unfortunate enough to be in the front. I cocked my gun, pointed, and fired. The troll growled ferociously and fell against a second, taking him down with him. Gandalf engaged another and stabbed it behind its armor from the side.

Minions of orcs came rushing out from behind the trolls, squealing viciously. I holstered my gun and waited for the onslaught to arrive, thrusting my sword into the first orc to arrive, jerking the blade back out, and putting it into another one. Then we moved into what I like to refer to as a killing spree, a pattern, if you will. Kill, swipe, jump, dodge, leap, kill, swipe, jump, dodge, and leap again.

"Happy piranhas!" I yelled, getting knocked to the ground by a clumsy troll. I stabbed him between his big, green, ugly-sandled toes and watch him tumble down. Just then, a huge club swung into my vision. Before I could react, I found myself plastered against it with a thump. I felt the exhilaration of flying—floating—then careening towards the ground. I could have sworn I heard Pippin's tiny voice crying, "Help up! He's burning Faramir alive! Gandalf! Help!"

I braced myself for the impact, but was unprepared for the jarring sensation in every bone contacting the hard floor much too heavily. Needless to say, I was as unconscious as Nancy Drew after the thugs stick a rag of chloroform in her face so that they can steal the family inheritance in the spooky mansion that happens to belong to the great uncle of said thug who is in cahoots with the groundskeeper. Woops, sorry folks, I just gave away every book in the whole series. All 164 of them. Sorry if any of you are fans. I myself preferred…well, Winnie the Pooh, to be exact.

Tangent.

I was unconscious, as I last recall explaining. I was REALLY blacked-out, to put it bluntly. I awoke bleary eyed to the exact same world I'd been tossed around in only a few seconds before.

"Oh, help," I said sorrowfully, trying stand, and not being able to. I was too dizzy. I started laughing hysterically. Yeah, that whole Legolas stuff? And Aragorn? Running around committed orc murder as if rehearsing for a reenactment of the Princess Bride duel? Complete balderdash! You can't be involved in these kinds of things and NOT get a little bloody!

I tripped and fell over, stumbling in the crowd.

I shook my head free of the cobwebs and hoisted myself up stairs, proceeding with the other soldiers into the next level up. We needed to reorganize—regroup—strike from a place of strength, eh?

Suddenly, I felt a swift jab in the side of my thigh and a stinging sensation began crawling through my veins.

"Aw, Eff," I crowed, jerking a quivering arrow shaft from my leg and thrusting it into the skull of an orc trying to clamber over the wall. "That hurts…oh, God, that really hurts like a…" I paused, pressing the wound with my left hand and hurrying with the rest of the company, staggering with an awkward limp. I really, really needed to pee.

I fell against a pillar, and noticed the rest of the men had made it past some kind of entrance gate into the next level. I was lagging behind—the orcs were just at my heels—and they were shutting the great doors.

"Dudes, wait up," I whispered hoarsely, breaking into a very painful run to reach the gate. There was a shriek of wind, and I felt something hard falling into the back of my left leg, about six and a half inches from the arrow wound. I took one last leap for the gate and fell to my knees inside it, and the soldiers—who were gallantly waiting for me—slammed them shut and began to hammer down the holders.

I took haggard breaths from running, grinning at the last-minute entrance worthy of an Indiana Jones movie. I went to stand and found I was slightly uncomfortable—there was a second arrow protruded from the back of my leg. With a rather horrified glance, I looked up slowly, and met the terrified gaze of Pippin.

"Pippin," I said simply. Whether or not I was begging him to tear the thing out, saying hello, or acknowledging his presence politely, I have no idea.

Pippin opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Instead, his lips formed one name: Boromir.

It was of course, expected, that I had a flashback.

_Suddenly a third arrow whistled past my own ear and sunk into Boromir's middle with a sickening sound. He fell to his knees._

I remembered the look in his eyes. There was something humiliating about being brought to your knees with injury during a battle. It was like being forced to bow for the enemy. I was bowing for the enemy. I was staring at Pippin, wide-eyed and panting for breath, wearing the same livery and armor, as Boromir did all those years—er, months—ago. I gazing, befuddled and hazy, into Pippin's eyes, just like our mutual friend, moments before he left us forever.

Pippin took a step back. This was a completely weird, freaky, déjà vu for him.

"Pippin?" I asked softly. "Hey, Pip. Come here."

Pippin shook himself and ran forward, grasping my shoulder. "Hullo, can you walk? Canna help?"

"Just help me up," I said, shaking the whole thing off. It was just weird, that's all. I looked up and saw Gandalf floating towards us. It was then I noticed the smell of smoke, and saw the gray ash smudges on both of them,.

"Faramir?" I asked carefully.

"He's safe from his father."

"I gathered that."

"All of middle earth…is safe from his father." Gandalf treaded the matter carefully, not wanting anyone else to overhear.

"He'd dead," I concluded, leaning on Pippin to help me up. Once I was standing, I walked slowly to a pillar where I could lean against it. I couldn't sit with an arrow sticking out the back of me.

"Shall I, uh, get that for you, sir?" said a voice, and I turned and saw Captain Tucket.

"Hey man," I said gratefully, "That'd be jolly good of you. Just—yeah. Tear her out." I braced myself against the pillar, and with a jerk and a fiery burst of nastiness, Captain Tucket pulled the arrow out.

I gritted my teeth to hold back a rather unmanly yell, then sighed with relief when the pressure was gone. With some assistance, I had scarves tied around the wounds to make sure I didn't bleed too much (this sounds bad, but the wounds really weren't too horrible or anything. It sounds worse than it is) and leaned against the wall tiredly.

I let my swollen eyes drift shut, and when I opened them again, the lighting seemed mid-afternoonish, but brown. I knew I'd dozed fitfully for some time.

Gandalf and Pippin were talking in hushed tones nearby, and the door that had—apparantly—held longer than we had even dared hope, was being attacked by orcs on the other side. I knew, vaguely, (and without much proof other than memory) that Peleannor was now swarming with allies—Theoden, Eowyn, and…Merry!—but they did not know, nor could they assist, what had befallen us in the second level.

"Death is just another path, one that we all must take," Gandalf was in mid sentence, talking to Pippin in a calming, fatherly voice. I tuned in, wanting to hear this particular dialogue. "The gray rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all change to silver glass…"

I realized then—there may be no hope for us. It doesn't matter if we are rescued by Rohan like I knew we were—it all mattered on the timing.

"And then you see it," Gandalf said in a reverent voice.

Did Tolkien tell you the fate of a few soldiers and a Mary Sam chillaxing behind a barricaded door until certain death met them?

"What, Gandalf?" asked Pippin, in hushed eagerness. "See what?"

No! He doesn't tell you! I could die. Bree could die. Tucket could die.

"White shores, and beyond," described Gandalf, "The far green country under a swift sunrise."

Heaven and Jesus. Well, if there was a time to go to paradise, after getting gutted or decapitated seemed like a pretty good time to me.

"Well, that isn't so bad," said Pippin.

"No. No it isn't," Gandalf smiled at him. "Take courage Pippin. Cast your worries aside. We must think tactful. We should make sure our Nathaniel, here, isn't going to have a fit."

"Seizure," I corrected. "Seizures." I managed to get up without their help and tested walking back and forth on the flagstones, feeling uncomfortable with each step, but not unmanageable.

Gandalf gave me an approving nod, and then two of us looked at Pippin. He gave a rueful smile, squeezed his eyes shut—

The gate splintered into pieces, and a great, stinking mass of orcs came pouring from it like blood from a wound.

**Read and review—if there are any fans still out there patiently waiting for an update. I guess we'll see if you can even type a review through your long gray beards of passing time…**


	16. Under a Swift Sunrise

Dearest Reviewers:

It has been far too long. I have missed you all very dearly. To be completely honest, I had the worst writers block for this story in the world-I thought I'd never pick it up again. I missed YOU guys, not the story. But a funny thing happened. I got some reviews begging me to finish, and I realized by letting writers block control my writing I was definitely letting people down. Well I do not like to let people down, EVER, so here I am. In addition, I needed a little creative push to get going again. I was watching Gladiator, and the aftermath of the battle within the first 15 minutes stuck a chord in me. The stirring music floated over the carnage and cries of wounded, and a battle-weary General stared down at his fellow warriors... then all of a sudden, I was like, Oh my GOSH. I've GOT to finish the battle! I left Gandalf, Nate, Pippin, Captain Tucket, Bree, THE WHOLE CREW... wandering aimlessly as badly as Russel Crowe. This has GOT to change. Thanks for never giving up on this story, because I certainly had.

There and Back Again, is it not?

with much love and appreciation,

Pippin

* * *

PS: Sorry for any spelling or grammar errors, my word processor isn't really working so I am using a new program and getting used to it still! It isn't quite as dedicated to grammar as Microsoft Word is, haha. Plus, I am tired, but I just can't wait till tomorrow to write!

* * *

Warning: Rated T for violence. Let me know if I should upgrade to an M!

* * *

Chapter 16

Under a Swift Sunrise

I barely had time to think. I had lost my gun when the goblin had swung its club into me and had thrown me across the courtyard. Rather than have the modern advantage, then close contact with a sword, then the modern advantage again-I knew I was going to have to be the kid with fight lessons from the old days. The kid, the goof, dumb ol' Nate, who had never shot a gun in his life and used his clumsiness for the ridiculous ability to fall out of harms way before it occurred.

I lifted my sword, wondering why it felt so heavy. My legs ached as I rushed towards the incoming hoard of orcs. Pippin gave a high pitched yell at my side, Gandalf roared indistinctly, and we met the line head-on. There was a horrifying crash as my body pummeled right into a shield. The Orc thrust the shield at me so that I fell backwards, but the force was so great that my shoulders hit the ground, my legs flipped up, and I somersaulted completely. Now I was face down in the ground, unprotected, blinded to the battle around me...

An arm grasped my elbow and jerked me upwards.

"On your feet, laddie! To the death!" Captain Tucket righted me and pushed me to the left, where an orc suddenly had pushed a sword right where my abdomen would have been. Captain Tucket swung his blade in a wide arc and decapitated the orc neatly.

"Thanks," I shouted. "Look out!" The orc crept behind the Captain, raising his axe high above his head. I grabbed the Captain's wrist, jerked him towards me, and ran my sword towards the right, sliding it between the breast plate and belt of the orc. It squealed like a dying hog and crumpled, and I lunged for another right behind it. I lost sight of Captain Tucket for a moment, then turned to find him in the mayhem.

He was at it hammer and tongs with a beast not unlike an orc, more like a goblin I think, and in a swift move it punched him square in the jaw.

Shouting, I ran for him, but it was too late. Before the Captain could recover from the blow, it plunged the sword right into his heart. Tucket looked at me, and opened his mouth in a choking gasp. Blood dribbled out of his mouth, his eyes rolled back, and then his legs buckled. For a moment he lay in a distorted shape, but then the fight overtook his body and he was being trampled by orc and solider feet alike.

"AGH!" I cried, distracted from his death. I wanted to stop, watch, mourn, END his killer-

Suddenly, a horrific impact exploded against the right side of my face, I found myself sprawled on the ground spread-eagle. An orc leered over me, yellow drool flinging from his smiling jaws. He twisted the hilt of his sword, and I realized with a sickening sensation its tip was already in my side. I shouted and tried to pull away, but that only made it worse. It felt as if the blade had lit my brain on fire, poured acid in my veins, and soaked the blood of the wound in fiberglass.

I let out a guttural scream and threw my left leg in the hair, kicking the orc in its no-no square.

With a bay like a coon hound, it stumbled back, taking its sword with it. The blade made a horrible, almost slurping sound as it exited the hole in my side. Saltwater streamed from my eyes as I used an elbow to crawl pathetically forward. I found the edge of the wall with my fingertips, pressed them into the grainy surface of the white bricks, and pulled myself to a standing position.

It was too much. There was blood undulating in globules between my ribs and running down in thick drips across my armor. I took a moment to blink and get my bearings.

I'd managed to pull myself out of the fighting crowd, obviously losing sight of Pippin and Gandalf. I knew I needed to get back in, but I didn't know if I had the strength- or the courage, for that matter- to make myself run into hell again.

Something brushed my shoulder.

I looked beside me, and a mild green color in the shape of a man seemed to float past me. It was wearing transparent armor, carried a clear sword, and underneath it all was a rotting corpse- or, a holographic image of it.

It was followed by three more of these creatures. Then four, five, six...

"The dead! the dead!" cried terrified voices of the soldiers.

"Garn!" cursed the orcs. "Flee!"

"BE STILL!" thundered Gandalf's voice from the midst of the chaos. "THEY ARE OUR FRIENDS! TAKE THEM WHILE THEY RUN IN FEAR!"

The orcs were scrambling over each other and around, trying to get back to the gates of the second level before the dead could overtake them.

It was like watching a sea-foam colored army made of glow sticks and shower curtains take over our enemies. I realized that I leaned against the outmost wall- just below my viewpoint was the main plaza of the first level where the Main Gate stood in splinters. I looked over the wall and gasped in awe as the army of undead green men overtook the wall simply by floating up and over it. They ran the orcs over, killing them swiftly and silently (save the moaning of the cold wind that seemed to follow their capes) and continued up the wall that I leaned against. They floated past me, some going right through me, and overtaking every son of a beesting that set foot in Minas Tirith.

With greater effort, I strained my bloodshot eyes to see into the Pelennor fields. The sounds of trumpets were blaring, the carcasses of Oliphants were falling under the unmerciful weapons of the Dimwalt, and I could see the tiny shapes of soldiers from Rohan raising their arms in victory.

It was the last thing I saw clearly before the pain of my wound fully swept in. The force of tremors made me fall right on my butt, where I sat against the wall, unable to help myself.

"Nathaniel," Gandalf called. He shouted my name again, and again. He was astride Shadowfax again, looking over the wounded, as the green army had moved on to the inner city and the roads, looking for stragglers.

"I'm here," I shouted, but it came out in a hoarse whisper. Working my lungs to produce the volume made my ribs expand, aggravating the puncture just below the ribcage. It suddenly gave me the volume I needed to scream "Gandalf!" before letting delirium take over my consciousness.

But I could still see things underneath the blurry images, sliding, moving. Hello. What's up, doc? Joke. Knock knock. Whose there? ADD. ADD Who? Oh hi, whats up?

"Nathaniel, can you hear me?"

"I'm sorry... Gandalf... I'm so sorry..."

"I need a stretcher! Men! NOW!"

"Nathan!"

"Pippin, you can't help him. Move out of the way."

Pippin was holding my hand. "It's going to be okay, Nathan. Gandalf's going to help you."

"I'm sorry, Pippin."

"Stop apologizin'! Tisn't your fault! I'm off to find me Merry, now, and when I do, I'm gona bring em here, and we're gona have the finest ale of Gondor to celebrate our victory!"

He frowned, and let the banter fade. "Just stay with us. You'll be alright, you'll see." Pippin gave my hand a squeeze and soon disappeared beyond the boundaries of my bipolar eyesight.

Gandalf wasn't getting the man power he felt he needed, and the stretchers were scarce. He ran back to my side... mumbling... I felt myself fade into darkness for a moment, and was suddenly jostled into sharp focus again. Gandalf was carrying me, and the towers of the city were overhead, passing by, walking, or running... then I was on a bed of heather, in a field, and Bree was smiling down at me. She leaned forward, and I wondered if I was about to get kissed by the most adorable girl in Middle-Earth.

I could get used to this delirium stuff.

A sharp cry ripping from my own lips brought me back. I was in a creamy-white walled room, with soft curtains letting in a little sunlight, and the smell of flowers hovered just outside.

But it was not a pleasant place like it was before, when Bree and I quietly worked on giving water to the wounded and folded laundry like kids in the back storage room. There were cries of pain all round, echoing my own. Soldiers missing limps, eyes, other appendages, and god knows what else were being dragged in by their horses, their comrades, their captains...

The women of the Houses of the Healing were bustling about, busy-but not panicked. There was one beside me, an older woman perhaps in her mid thirties, who was steadily removing my armor and bits of flesh, metal, stone, and mail from the wound. I bit my lip so hard it nearly bled.

"It's alright, it's alright," said the woman in a motherly tone. "Shhh."

"What's the hold up?" I gasped. "Can't we just patch me up and be done with it?"

"I'm picking the fabric of your shirt out of the mess," she said quietly. "You'll feel a little better after THAT, trust me."

It felt like a slow extraction of my intestine with clumsy fingers, a spork, and those weird claw things that girls put in their hair. (I never understood the point of that.) I allowed myself one loud cry of agony then swore to myself I'd shut up and take it like a man. Before I knew it, I was cleaned up, the blood was sopped, the bandage was in place, and I was wearing an old fashioned linen shirt.

"Is this a good color on me?" I asked the woman. She looked at me confusedly, opened her mouth to reply, then appeared to change her mind. With an annoyed shake of her head, she put a tumbler of water in my hand and moved towards the middle of the room. "I need two dressings for arrow wounds," she said in a commanding voice, "And someone to keep an eye on the neck."

My arm ached as I sipped the water. My head was supported by a makeshift pillow so that I wasn't pouring it all over myself on accident. I watched the goings-on in the room silently, too out of it to think coherently. I watched at Pippin helped Merry in and settled him at the far end of the room, and not moments later, Eowyn too. Faramir was in another part of the House, and I wondered if I would see him at all.

Another woman, this one in her sixties I'd guess, walked over to my bed. Without so much as a hello, she pulled my pant legs up, tied white rags around the arrow puncture marks, and then walked over to my head.

"Mary Poppins?" I said uncertainly.

"Hush," she said quickly. "How's that neck?"

"Ordinary," I replied, wincing a little. "A small worry in the line-up."

"Right then, ye 'old still now, and if I see ye movin' bout too much, I knock you unconscious meself." she turned and bustled away.

"Hey," I called out to another healer as she ran by. I recognized her as the one I'd met before. "Is Stowick still here?"

"Nah, sent the laddie to an inn. He's got that ol' granny lookin' out fer 'em, and she's to sent fer me iffen there be'in trouble. We needed the room for more seriously injured folk."

"So... should I take off, then?"

"We're givin' ye a few hours to recuperate. But that sword went in deep, lad. I wouldn't be too 'asty iffen I were ye."

"Treebeard approves," I mumbled, relaxing a little. "Musn't be hasty, now..."

"NATHAN!"

Blessed glory be, the sound of Bree's voice sent warmth and a geeky sense of excitement and nervousness flooding over me.

"Hey you," I greeted casually, and I smiled at the lovely shape by the door. Her eyes were bright with worry and relief, and she looked around, afraid to be intruding. I held out my arms for a hug, and that was all the invitation she needed. She trotted forward, dodged an old woman, and leaned in and gave me a gentle embrace.

"You look terrible," she said flatly, fighting a smile.

"Terribly rugged and handsome and sexy though, right?" I replied, feeling the amount of jest I'd used drained me of all left strength and wittiness.

"Well, maybe if the entire right side of your face wasn't red and purple," Bree brushed some dirt off my cheek. "Those colors don't compliment each other."

I let out a tired sigh and squeezed my eyes shut a moment. My whole side felt like it was slowly roasting-like Stowick said, getting prepared for Sauron's steak dinner!-but I felt completely weary.

But the sight of Bree, safe, and the dizzying patterns on the hanging tapestries, was enough to finally allow me to slip into a fitful doze.

* * *

Removing an intestine with a spork...? Well I don't know where half of these analogies came from... But let's just say I got soap in my eye a few days ago, and it hurt so flippin bad I thought I was going to die. The tragedy was physically and emotionally damaging and I couldn't rest till I'd described some kind of injury in full detail and sent it into internet oblivion.

Um, okay, not really though. Just kidding.

It's two thirty AM and I am a little out of it, muahaha. Thanks for reading, peeps! Leave me reviews like you always do :)

PS: If anyone is interested in reading my writing that ISN'T fan fiction, feel free to check out my tumblr account. http: / / papayapie (dot) tumblr (dot) com. (remove the spaces). I have two or five postings that are bloggish/thought/picture things, but its mostly fiction and musings. I think you'll like them.


	17. Not Feeling Like an Old Spice Man

Dear Readers:

Thank you so much for the reviews! I love your comments :)

Love,

Pip

* * *

Chapter 17,

Not Feeling Like an Old Spice Man

I woke up in the middle of the night. There were candles lit around the room, and busyness had never ceased—it had just gotten a lot quieter. The injured that were brought to the front entrance were turned away, and sent to the three other locations of healing houses in the city, because this one was full and already understaffed.

There was no candle lit by my bed, only by those were open surgeries that were being conducted. There was one three beds down from me, and the muffled cries of its sad patient were suddenly silenced and two boys were called for to carry the body away.

I felt cold and lonely in the dark, cold more than anything else. I tried to relax and let myself slip back into an uneasy sleep, but the adrenaline of battle was still too heavy in my mind. So I laid there, uncomfortable, and shivered for a long time.

My side suddenly cramped up, and I groaned. I wrapped my arms, as sore as they were, around my middle. It felt better when it seemed like I was holding my entire interior together. Otherwise, it felt as if the beating and working organs protected by a severely bruised ribcage were going to fly off to Neverland and leave me to fend for myself without vital necessities for living.

Something touched my hand, and my heart nearly went spelunking up my throat.

"Oh, sorry," whispered Bree's voice. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You're still here?" I asked, a little disoriented.

"I refused to leave."

I was pleasantly surprised. "Wow. Thanks."

"How do you feel?"

"Do you want the Nate response or the tv show response?"

"Both."

"Well, tv show response says, 'I feel like I got ran over by a bus.' My response would go something more like this; 'Did someone lose a firecracker? I think it went off in my abdomen. Thanks'."

I could almost hear her smiling in the darkness. She laced her fingers through mine and exhaled slowly.

"Well," she responded, "That IS descriptive."

"Mhm."

"Your hand is really hot."

"And so are my elbows," I replied, "One day, I hope my biceps will be hot. Then my chest. Then my face. Lifelong goal: total hotness. Then a magazine cover."

"You're a jester," Bree laid a hand across my forehead. "But really though. You're very hot."

"I'm actually not. I'm freezing. Do you think I could get a blanket?"

"You've got one."

"How about… I've got a fever… and the only prescription… is more blanket?" I laughed pathetically.

Bree's outline shrugged. "The supply is very low. I'm not entirely sure why you're running a fever, though. I'm no healer."

"It'll pass."

"Are you sure?"

"They do, usually. I was just kidding about the blanket."

There was suddenly a spasm in the wound. "Ack," I snapped, gritting my teeth together. "Unpleasant!"

Bree pulled her stool closer to the bed and laid her head on the pillow next to mine. She tucked her chin right by my shoulder, wrapped her arm around me, and took a deep breath.

"Comfy?" I asked.

"I'll be sore on the morrow," Bree said sleepily. "But you'll feel a little warmer."

She was right. I did. But it was from the butterfly effect in my stomach. If I hadn't been so distracted, I would have been downright giddy.

"We're cuddling," I mumbled.

"Go to sleep, Nathaniel, son of Harold."

I groaned, "Oh, that sounds so STUPID…"

Bree giggled. "I know. Now go back to sleep."

For a while, I was unable to. I shivered and quivered like a jackhammer on the rampage, but eventually, the chills died down and I felt my body temperature go back to normal.

I would have guessed it was around 4 am when I finally slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I awoke again, it was late, perhaps ten am. I felt sharp, slightly energetic, sore, but there was definite improvement. Bree had gone, and things were as busy as usual… but with a sinking heart I noticed the people that had filled the room before had been replaced by others. I wondered what the death toll was?

"Ma'am, hey," I said, waving to a healer. "Can I talk to ya for a sec?"

She walked to the side of my bed. "Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

"Uh, yeah, water, please," I said, suddenly feeling my dehydration. "I want to ask you about…"

"Are you warm enough? Do you want to sit up, or use another pillow?"

"Um, naw, this is fine," I shifted, wondering how best to get up. The woman put her arm around my waist and helped hoist me to a sitting position. "Not bad," I grimaced.

"You have a question?" the woman asked crisply.

"I did?" I had been distracted too many times. I had lost my thought. I knew I had a question for her… but my mind was so blank…curse you, ADD aqua scuuuuuuuuuuuum!

"You asked to speak with me."

"I did…? I DID! Yes! Right! Sorry… My inquiry is, uh, I need to speak with Gandalf Greyhame…"

She raised her eyebrows. "I know not of whom you speak."

"Uh, Mithrandir! The Wizard?"

"Ah, yes. Well, I am sorry lad, but he can't use magical powers to heal you faster—otherwise we should have enlisted his services. I am sure he can grant you an audience when the conflict is over and you are back on your feet. But for now, I am sure he cannot be troubled by admirers of his works."

"I'm not just some crazy fan boy," I cried, "I'm a friend! He's my friend! And I've got to talk to him soon, before the council meets. Before they decide about the March on the Black Gate thing."

"March on the Black Gate?" her eyes in a weathered face grew huge. "Of Mordor? You are delirious. Lay back down this instant."

"No, ma'am, I know it sounds crazy, I know I sound crazy—this isn't the first time—but they're all my friends. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Legolas the Prince of Mirkwood, Gimli son of… son of… Groin… no… Gloin! Yes! And, um, Gandalf, er—Mithrandir. Yeah. They're my friends. I gotta talk to 'em… or I'll miss the action. I don't want to be left behind."

The woman pushed my shoulders down. I helplessly complied, not really being mobile enough to leap out of the bed and run for it like I'd want to.

"You stay there, and shush your crazy talk," she said. "We'll be back with some water, food, and a little herbal tea to calm your delirium. But I can't promise any cure for your sanity."

"Wait! Wait wait!" I grabbed her hand before she could leave. "The Hobbits. Somewhere in this House, there's a hobbit named Merry. Merry, uh, he'll have Pippin with him. The Halflings?"

Recognition passed over her uninterested features. "Yes, we do have a Halfling on the west end."

"He'll have Pippin with him—a much healthier hobbit at this point. Tell Pip to tell Gandalf I've gotta speak with him."

"Very well, but I cannot promise he'll know where to find this Wizard," the woman shook her head sympathetically. "Poor lad," she mumbled, and she left the room.

I waited on pins and needles for her to come back. In mere moments, but it felt much longer, she was back.

"Well?" I asked eagerly.

"I sent the Halfling on your errand, which he was more than happy to comply to," she put her hand on my forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, good, now. I was running a bit of a fever last night but I think it's all good now."

The woman looked a little concerned and thoughtful. "Hm."

"What's the 'hm' for? What kind of hm was that? Was that like a… hm, how interesting, hm? Or was that like, hm, I wonder how long he has to live kind of hm?"

"Stop this nonsensical deduction," the woman snapped. "Rummaging through your brain for an answer isn't going to do you any good."

"So why did you get that look?" I asked, unsure as to why I was pursuing it so stubbornly. I think part of me was worried that I was just on the brink of that abyss that lord of the ringians love to use as a metaphor.

"I'll be brief," said the woman, looking me square in the eye. "Some people grow sickly from their wounds and die. Others recover. You are not out of danger yet. You lost a lot of blood and, consequently, could be damaged beyond repair. It may take a few days for things to shut down completely."

"Wait," I said, trying to wrap my brain around it, "Are you saying that I might be dying?"

"You could be. Over half the people in this room did, with injuries not unlike yours."

I blinked at her. I wasn't really expecting that. "I'm not… I'm not DYING," I scoffed, after a moment of hesitation. "I've, uh, died before! Well, kind of. I mean, I can't do that AGAIN. Surely I can only come back so many times. I don't, I mean, you…"

A young boy came running to the woman, holding a pitcher and a stack of tumblers. She poured me a glass and handed it to me, ignoring my protests.

"I'm already feeling better," I argued, even though she had said nothing. "Yesterday was bad… but today I feel like, you know, stronger—more energetic—I bet I could leave tomorrow, right?"

"You are going no where," said the woman firmly. "And we don't know yet. You may recover. It's the same as all the others here—you have a fifty fifty chance. Don't over excite yourself and make the odds worse in your favor."

"But…"

"I have other duties. Is there anything else? A poached egg and bread will be brought to you in twenty minutes for your breakfast."

"Um, sure, but I…"

The woman left.

I can't die again… I just can't. I mean I didn't die the first time, I just got sent back to my world. But Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli all thought I died. My wounded body had been left without a heartbeat, and my friends all freaked out when I had a stomach stab wound after a movie in a theater.

My last moment in MY world, before finding myself in Middle Earth again, was an explosion… the terrorist had gotten his hand stuck in my necklace… I think one of his bombs had gone off… My old life was a bit hazy to me now.

What if I got sent back to it—dead for realz?

I died here, again, but when I go back to earth—I really am dead? That explosion had thrown me into a wall—dude, I totally could NOT survive that. What about Lindy, her husband (who is like… Captain Awesome, ya know?), and my sweet niece?

But what if I die here, lonely, in the Houses of the Healing… Pippin and Merry blissfully recovering mentally and physically upstairs, Eowyn and Faramir falling in love in the garden, Bree visiting Stowick or something… Elf, Man, Dwarf, and Wizard deciding their move to attack Mordor and Barad-dur…

For some reason, my mind went to Boromir. I wonder what he thinks of those green shores, silver waters, and swift sunrise… the Gray Havens might be a little boring to him. He was always a man of action.

I hadn't realized I had one gigantic single tear worthy of a Will Ferrell interpretation of Rodger's and Hammerstein was streaming down my cheek until I heard Gandalf's voice.

"Nathaniel, it is good to see you haven't burnt the place down," his voice was cheery, and kind.

I winced and turned to face him, embarrassed he'd caught me in the middle of a saltwater downburst. Gandalf's face remained smiling, but it shifted from a teasing smile to an understanding, sympathetic one.

"Now now, lad," Gandalf came to my bedside and put his knobby hand on my shoulder. "What's this? The ridiculously distracted and eternally blissful one has tears? Tell this old wizard what ails you."

"I was just thinking," I mumbled, wiping the tear away quickly. "I didn't really know how bad this all was. Eternally blissful, yes. But ignorance is bliss I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"What if I die?"

"Nathaniel, you are not going to die."

"But the woman said I might."

Gandalf's eyebrows furrowed. "She has a lot less faith in your strength than I do."

"So it's a matter of opinion?"

"Fact. You have significantly improved since I brought you here."

"That's what I said! But she still… she only gave me a fifty fifty chance."

Gandalf did look a little troubled. "I do acknowledge the seriousness of this. But to remind you of the fair Galadriel's words—hope remains while the Fellowship is true. Legolas and Gimli will be here to see you soon enough, Aragorn—possibly not, he has many duties to attend to—and your heart should lighten with their presence.

A fifty fifty chance is the truth, at this point, but there are other powers at work. In our small efforts to change the course of the future, we can oft forget the powers and might of Illuvator, creator of this earth. Our numbers give us small hope. Illuvator, and his creations—Elbereth, the star in the heavens—gives us more hope than these numbers. That is what we hold close. And THAT is what I ask you to remember. Grant yourself defeat before you've even begun to heal, and you shall be signing your own death sentence. Stay with us, Nathaniel. Take courage. You cannot have survived this war and not have some greater purpose to fulfill."

I had nothing to say. I would think it'd be rude to not answer after a heartfelt, deeply appreciated monologue like that, but Gandalf could see the gratitude in my look, and no words were necessary.

"You have something to ask of me, I think?" Gandalf guessed.

"Yes, um, I was wondering if you'd gathered the leaders together to debate our next move. Ya know, with Eomer, and Imrahil, and Aragorn and everybody…"

"Not yet, but soon. We must decide our next move. Sauron is only defeated for now, but his might grows stronger in his realm. We may face total annihilation yet, but I hold out that Aragorn has some kind of plan… I long to hear it."

"So when is your meeting?"

"Noon."

"Can I come?"

Gandalf frowned. "I do not think that would be wise."

"Come on, Gandalf," I whispered, thinking myself reminiscent of Leonardo DiCaprio trying to tell Costello he really WASN'T the 'stinkin' rat'.

"These… these people in here, they've got more important things to do… I won't be any trouble. Really. I'll get Shrek—that's my horse—down here and he can get me up to the citadel."

"I don't want to your over exert yourself."

I didn't reply. I knew that's exactly what I'd be doing.

"You're an adult, Nathaniel," Gandalf said solemnly. "You make that choice, and I will not condone either course. If you believe this meeting is so important, than I cannot convince you to stay away even if I try. But I will say that I think it is foolish, and I wish you'd stay, and let yourself grow stronger and heal. But that is my opinion. I'll leave you to think on it." Gandalf squeezed my shoulder again, absently fixed my blanket like an obsessive compulsive Dad, and left the room—his cape billowing out behind him like a sail for a grand white ship.

* * *

Thanks for reading! See if you can identify two movie references and three tv show references ;) Answers will be in the next chapter! (I'm estimating about five more before the trilogy is complete.)

In case you are interested, my youtube username is MrsPippinBaggins, my tumblr account is PapayaPie. I've got more videos and stories :)


	18. Too Late to Debate

**Dear Readers, **

**I don't even know if any of you exist anymore, and you're probably wondering if I even exist anymore. Here's the thing; I didn't really know how to continue this story. I did a lot of growing up in the past three years and it was very hard to come back to an older story that—well—just **_**wasn't **_**growing up with me. None of it is very plausible, you see, with the whole FBI agent thing and… I'll spare you the details, you know them, you're the fans. I should have remained dedicated to it, but I lacked motivation. **

**Anyhow, I want to finish it. I owe it to you, my very faithful fans, who've always supported the story even though it (now that I've reread it) seems ridiculously silly now. But what can I say, we're our own worse critic! So here we are… at the end, and I'm sorry for how long it took to get there. **

**-Pippin**

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**Too Late to Debate**

I was informed by Gimli that the meeting—The Meeting, _The Debate of the Commanders, _mind you—was going to occur that afternoon. I wanted to be there like nobody's business.

The Houses of the Healing were quiet, those that were fatally injured had passed and were removed. Those that were able to walk were taken in by strangers in the city. I wasn't sure why they wouldn't let _me _leave. _It was only a sword wound… and arrow wounds… and a head wound… yeah, yeah, okay._ I couldn't see much from where I was, but the light coming through the windows was soft, and sort of gray. Maybe it rained earlier.

I knew if I wanted to attend the meeting, I was going to have to break out of my confinement. How hard could it be to break out of a room full of elderly women nursing people back to health? After all, I did have _some _training as a federal agent—which, I admit, being a "rookie" means when a ride-along goes badly… or when you conduct a drugs bust very unconventionally-you're back to square one. I can only imagine what would happen after the explosion, the explosion that brought me to Middle Earth. Was it my fault…? My memory was fuzzy about the whole thing. Someone else pulled a trigger. Maybe I got too close. Maybe it was time to turn in my very-recently earned badge and get a job at a restaurant as a bus boy. It wasn't too late for life changes.

Maybe less stressful, life-threatening ones. Which is why I was _obviously _trying to break into a war meeting.

"Could I please have some water?" I asked, innocently. "My throat is really parched. We're talking sandpaper—er, you don't have sandpaper. Sand. Grit. Stone. Like that."

"Yes, I'll fetch you some water," said the woman nearby, very suspiciously.

_Seriously! I only asked for water, not your hand in marriage._

When she finally left the room, I slipped my legs out of the bed. There was a folded up shirt tucked somewhere—I saw her leave it there for someone else. Oh well, there'd be a shirtless Rohanian running around somewhere. I took the shirt and slipped it over my head, and was relieved to notice—I didn't feel feverish anymore. That clammy, chilled feeling and buzzing in my head had disappeared.

The abdomen wound was tender. Very tender. I stood up, woozily, and put my hand on the end of the bed for support. Perhaps this was a bad idea…

But the dizziness passed. The pain remained, but it was sort of manageable, like a pulled muscle. I can only feel the discomfort severely if I strained myself—which I was determined _not _to do.

I limped out of the room, and looked into the white-walled passage. There were several open alcoves and doorways in the crooked hallway, and from where I stood, I could see out into the House gardens—where I knew, eventually, Faramir and Eowyn would have a few "moments" and discover true love.

Speaking of discovering love… I hadn't seen Bree in several hours. She was probably visiting Stowick. I should be visiting him, too. After all, he's practically my clone. Maybe he needs an organ donation. I should look into that.

Many of the women working in the House saw me hobble by, but no one stopped me. I thought they'd wrestle me back to my room and drug me, but I managed to get outside…

And then I found Bree. She was standing there, holding the reins of my dear little Shrekky horse.

"Shrek! Bree!" I greeted, happily, but carefully, so as not to take too deep a breath. "How did you know what I needed?"

"Gimli informed me of the meeting, and I informed your horse," she said, sheepishly. "And Shrek was determined that you wouldn't go alone."

"That's very thoughtful of you," I said, taking the reins from her.

"You look better," she said, with a warm smile.

"I feel much better. The fever is gone."

"You are lucky, then. Though I hope being out today doesn't sign your death sentence."

"If it did, would you be sad?"

"I'm being serious!"

"Would you be sad at my _funeral?_" I amended.

She gave me a frustrated smile. "I'd be sad if you killed yourself."

"I'm not responsible for that," I replied, glaring at the sky.

"You're responsible for checking yourself back into the House," Bree commanded. "As soon as the meeting is over."

"Bossy lady."

"Only because I care."

"I care, too," I said, cheekily.

"Let's be good friends," Bree said, taking my hand, and squeezing it. "For many years—for as long as we can!"

"I agree," I said, uncertainly.

"And we'll see where the end of the war takes us."

"Couldn't agree more. Perhaps Oregon?"

"Like I said, I don't want to leave," Bree sighed.

"If it came down to it," I said, sadly, "I'd go back… in the end. But you'd stay."

"Then it wouldn't work out for us," Bree shrugged, but she smiled. "But _knowing _that we had a shot, and that we were friends during this war, it wouldn't just be a sad break up—it'd be a lovely memory."

"Right, I guess," I said, "We're not like… committed or anything."

"We're in the—you've asked me out stage, and I've postponed the date."

"From what I've heard, that's a terrible stage."

"But we're different. Circumstances allow exceptions—we're both Other Worlder's trapped in Middle Earth during the events of Lord of the Rings. I like you, you like me…"

"Someday we could be a happy family?" I quoted Barney with chagrin.

"If we're right for each other, and if happy endings are real."

"I believe they are."

"Then I will, too."

…

I mounted Shrek (with a boost from Bree—gawd, mounting a horse is difficult with a FREAKING STAB WOUND!) and began to make my way up the citadel. I held a hand carefully to the bandages wrapped tightly around my middle, feeling the texture of the homespun gauze through the thin shirt. I couldn't tell if I felt like there was something missing from my stomach, or if the pain itself had become an object and lodged itself in there.

The air had a dark gray hue, and the smell of ash drifted over the entire city. The bodies of the fallen enemy were being burned in the fields, and the bodies of the allies were being gathered and arranged for burial.

When I reached the top, and oh-so-carefully slid off Shrek's back, the doors to Denethor's (uh—rest in peace, I guess, dude?) palace were opening.

"You missed it," Gimli said, chuckling.

"I had hoped you might stay behind… seems you've done all this extreme exercise for nothing," Gandalf sighed.

"Aragorn, Legolas," I greeted, "Long time no see!"

"It has, indeed, been awhile. I had forgotten about your growing up," Aragorn replied. "You were only with us for moments before coming here with Gandalf."

"And it seems we've lived thousands of years since we separated," Legolas chimed in. "Had I naught been so preoccupied with everything, I would have visited you long before now."

Gimli smiled smugly. "I visited him this morning."

"I was surprised to see a horde of dead green men," I interrupted their constant competition to address good ol' Strider. "Okay—sort of surprised."

"You no more than I!"

"This REALLY makes you King, now, doesn't it?"

"I shall be King," Aragorn said, slowly. "If we pass the next test, for which, I have little hope for."

"Arithmetic or anthropology?" I asked innocently.

"Storming the black gate itself," said Prince Imrahil _himself_, coming out of the open doors behind them. _Hello, protective older brother of the girl I'm trying to date… _ "I tried to give you some moments alone for a reunion…"

"Thank-you," Aragorn said, unable to keep the dry sarcasm from his gratitude.

"…our test will be against Sauron's front door," Imrahil continued. "And it is one we are all not _expecting _to pass. A suicide mission, it is."

"Tis not a suicide mission if we cling to hope of life," Aragorn corrected. "Our hobbits still remain out of Enemy eye. I say I have little hope for it—for it isn't entirely _hopeless._"

"I trust your Halfling companions," Imrahil said, loyally. "It is your tenth companion I am not so sure about."

"Me?" I exclaimed. "Why?"

"I think my sister has recently been led to believe that you two shall begin a courtship."

"Not without your permission," I replied, calmly.

"We hardly know anything about you, except that the Fellowship vouches for you. It may end with your death and my sister's destitution."

"Bree and I have had discussions," I said, "And we have several options about where we might go in life. We aren't signing a contract for any which one—if it means one of us moves on, we're willing to do that, and let the other live their life as they please."

"That pleases me, too," said the Prince, "I am grateful that you are both looking at this realistically. You know if you wanted to take her back to your world—I wouldn't allow it. You know that, don't you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it.

Legolas shifted, uncomfortably. "Is there anything else you'd like to know about the meeting, Nathaniel?" he changed the subject subtly, with a glance at Imrahil.

"Where's Faramir?"

"Mourning his father, inside. Best not to disturb him. You can find him in the Houses of the Healing later."

"Okay, second question—no, statement—I don't think I can go," I let the reality of that sink in, for a moment. "I don't think I can go to the black gate, and fight. It was hard just to get up here."

"We did not expect you to, laddie," Gimli said.

"Neither did I," Gandalf agreed quickly.

Aragorn was silent.

"I don't think I _can _go. But I think I _should _go."

"I will place you in Osgiliath's reserves," Aragorn burst. "And when—when things go badly at the gate—you shall ride in and save us, will you not?"

"Absolutely! I'd rather be at your side, but…"

"You will be soon enough."

"I do not support this," Gandalf stated, flatly. "Instilling injured friends in the back row will only cause a distraction when they are in real danger."

I leaned against Shrek for support, my insides hurting badly. I think they gave me _some _sort of pain reliever in the last cup of wine, and whatever-it-was, it was wearing off. "Still," I said slowly, "You need all the help you can get."

"You can hardly stand," Gandalf added.

"If I can't fight standing, from my knees, then," I replied, "If not from my knees, then to the very end, even if I'm crawling into death. I'd just… rather fight."

"That's poetic, for you," Gimli nodded approvingly.

"Grown up," Aragorn reminded.

"From your perspective," Legolas said, with a small grin.

Prince Imrahil was regarding me silently. "I hope it is not to impress my sister."

"If I wanted to impress your sister, I'd steal armor for her and let her fight, too. Which I would not do."

Prince Imrahil pursed his lips disapprovingly. _Oops, I hope I didn't just get Bree in trouble… _"Forgive me for doubting your intentions," he said, formally, though it seemed sincere. "If you will all excuse me, I go to inform the men of Dol Amroth that we march on the stoop of the Great Eye."

…

I returned to the Houses of the Healing with the greatest reluctance. Going downhill from the citadel made me feel like I was going to miss everything important that was going on, which all seemed to take place a long horse-ride away from my bed.

I stopped at the stable, and started to lead Shrek inside.

Bree was waiting for me. "I am glad to see you're doing the mature thing."

"And what's that, missy?"

"Going back to bed. Rafe is going to take Shrek. I'm taking _you_ to bed."

I raised my eyebrows, resisting giving her my "smolder" face.

She paused. "But not like… that."

I snorted. "I knew what you meant."

A stableboy, I'm assuming he was Rafe—took Shrek's reins from me, and I patted his flank (Shrek's, not Rafe's) to say goodbye.

Shrek blew a raspberry loudly and swished his tail in my face.

"Thanks, Shrek, I needed that," I said, blinking rapidly.

Bree laughed and took my arm, looping it over her shoulders till my hand rested on her other arm. "Feel free to lean on me." She tucked her other arm around my waist, taking care to not touch the area on my side that was bandaged beneath the shirt.

"Lean on meeee," I hummed lightly as we stepped out of the stables and onto the gray paved road again.

"When you're not stroooong," she chimed in.

"And I'll be your frieeeeend," we both finished.

"Well, we're awesome," I laughed. "Definitely the first person in Middle-Earth to ever—EVER—pick up on a reference. This is an _ostentatious _moment."

"Oh _that's _a big word, Mister Agent," Bree teased. "But I think you want _stupendous_?"

"Aren't you being a little _portentous_?"

"I think you mean _pretentious,_" Bree said, narrowing her eyes.

"Are you…" I paused. "_Suspicious _of my vocabulary?"

"I would smack you if you weren't injured."

"That's not… _inauspicious… _for me."

"Oh my gosh!" Bree exclaimed, nearly stepping away from me and causing me to fall over. "Whoa," she yelped, tightening her hold on my waist. "Forgive me—I would not want you to further injure yourself."

"And just like that, Middle-Earth speak is back," I chuckled.

"It is only because I have a magnitude of experience with either," she replied easily. "You're warming up quite a bit—are you feeling well?"

"It's not a fever," I said, "I'm just blushing from head to foot."

"Why?!"

"Because the more time we spend together, the more I like you. You make me jittery."

"I appreciate your honesty."

"Speaking of honesty—I am going with them."

"Going—with who—where?"

"With the others. When they storm the Black Gate."

Bree stopped walking. She did not look at me. "All right, then," she said, unemotionally, and walked on.

"Aragorn agrees with me, Gandalf is against it, naturally," I blabbed on, unsure of her silence. "But if there is anything—anything—I can do. I want to do it."

"If you need someone to help you walk, how do you expect to fight?" Bree asked.

"I'll be in the reserves."

"We both know how this ends, you know," Bree reminded. "There is no use pretending that you'll just wait in the back row till it all blows over. The entire army will be surrounded, and you will be _desperately _fighting until the Halfling is successful in his quest. There are no 'reserves', only those who will survive the battle and those who will not. I wonder which you will be."

"So do I," I said, pulling her a little closer. For a moment, her head was almost nearly right in perfect hugging and kissing proximity. I settled for pressing my lips to her hair and kissing the top of her head. "I've been wanting to do that for days."

Bree simply smiled up at me, and shook her head with a laugh. We walked the rest of the way in silence. Neither of us felt any reason to continue speaking, but it wasn't out of anger or weariness. It was strange to think that a girl like this and a guy like me would simply just enjoy each other's company, especially on the eve of one war and the beginning of another.

…

That night, I woke up in a cold sweat, shaking. I tried to sit up a little, shifting around my blankets. "Hello? Anyone awake?" I asked, worriedly, into the darkness.

A small bead of light came floating into the room. A Healer set her candlestick on the bedside table, causing another sleeper in the room to groan and roll over with an annoyed growl.

"What is wrong?" she asked.

I took a mental list of my injuries. I had an orc bite on my hand, a cut across my neck, arrow wound in the thigh, arrow wound in the back of the leg, concussion, a sword wound in my side. In thinking about it, I forgot to answer, and let my eyes drift shut again.

"Nathanial, stay with me. What is wrong?"

"I don't feel… right."

"Let me get you something to relieve the pain."

"Okay," I said uncertainly. She handed me a cup of wine, tainted with something unpleasant to taste. "Is this supposed to help? Or is it just bad wine?"

The Healer smiled. "It will help. Why don't you lay back down?" she took the cup out of my hands and I slipped back down into my bed.

"Can't you put that candle out?" hissed one of the other bedfellows.

"In a moment," said the Healer. "Do you feel better?"

"I don't feel much."

"Then it's better."

This was medicinal wine, not a jar of dirt from Tia Dalma. I have to count my blessings, here.

There was a shuffle at the other end of the room. Someone peered inside, and asked, "Merian, did you tell him about the Halfling?"

"What about the Halfing?" I asked sleepily.

"Oh, yes," Merian turned to me with a smile. "Peregrin Took returned from his searches yesterday, bringing back a certain Meriadoc Brandybuck. They are upstairs. We'll see that you get to visit tomorrow."

"Merry is alive and Pippin is too," I repeated. Yes, I was definitely counting my blessings.

* * *

**Sorry so short, guys. But I'm looking forward to moving on to more exciting chapters and another battle! Love to all. **


End file.
